tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29589676853087500282024-03-13T19:34:28.893+01:00Musings from an astronaut bound to earth.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-63624476130557244102013-01-04T13:47:00.001+01:002013-01-04T13:47:16.349+01:00Like-minded people.<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">https://iantruman.wordpress.com/2013/01/03/finding-your-own-way-is-apparently-a-never-ending-process/#comment-138</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This guy says a lot of things that I felt myself and which I still struggle with. There is no doubt that once my grandmother on my father's side passes away I will never hear from that side of the family again. There is a very good reason for this. <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">I come from a family of mostly hard-working bankers, accountants or builders so I can totally relate to this. It was pretty much expected of me that I would do something with accounting like everyone else and my dad forbade me to ever make a career out of being creative. So i said fuck em. I am the only one in my family to gain a degree and I worked my butt of to get it and although it is an arts degree and I will never gain a “real job” in their eyes it made me happy. Now I have a job which offers me plenty of time to be creative, to write, to sing, to be joyous in my life and enough money to make do (not planning on being wealthy or even well-off like the rest of my family). I say we get rid of the guilt for allowing ourselves to be happy instead of pleasing everyone else.</span></span>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-30497241507915805762013-01-03T13:46:00.000+01:002013-01-03T13:51:50.623+01:002013 update<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">So 2013 already ... Wow that went fast. After reading through all the many many posts with new years resolutions posted on facebook, on blogs and many other places I have decided to make one myself. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">In 2013 I will ...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Be myself! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">There. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I said it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I feel no need to change anything in my life and I am not going to lie to myself and make all kinds of promises that I wont keep anyway. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">2012 for me was another up and down year; </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Ups: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Got a job! Yes that happened and is still happening. I am very grateful that someone chose to give me the chance and now I can only strive to not let them down. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Lost 9,5 kgs (gained a little of it back during december)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Husband finally managed to get a residency. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">So 2013 I am ready for you. I signed up for milwordy (Yikes one million in a year!)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">So far my plans for 2013 looks something like this: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Finish up The day they descended; book 1 of my sci-fi series. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Write the 2nd and 3rd of the series.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Write a steampunk/urban fantasy with a base in egyptian mythology</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Finish my NaNo 2012 romance novel.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Write "The Twins saga" (working title)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Finish my YA novel (translating from danish and then finishing) </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Write book 2 and 3 in the YA novel series. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">- Write "The awakening of a new race" (working title)</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">A bit of work ahead of me, but hopefully that will end up at 1 mill at the end of it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Now I am l</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">ooking for title suggestions. So far the story goes something like this; In a Steampunk inspired world shared by humans and elves, steam-taxi operator Alex Bean (name is a part of a dare) unwillingly gets involved in the dealings of the high council of elves when a young elven woman dies of mysterious reasons on a taxi ride. The young woman was part of a dig in Egypt lead by the human scientist D</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">octor Nicholas Lovett Fysh, studying the common link between elven and human culture. Soon Alex is wrapped up in elven politics at the same time as having to solve the mystery of a sickness that only seems to affect elves. She is forced to collaborate with the posh Lord Odyhum, sister of the victim, and the ghost of Sam Eliott, another and seemingly unrelated victim of the dig. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Throw me a line so I know your thoughts. Peace out Comrades. </span><br />
<br />Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-19666780999797294402012-09-19T20:32:00.001+02:002012-09-19T20:32:33.629+02:00An interview with an emotional vampire.As promised I will give you the interview that I made with my new character quite a few years after the 1st book of the series ends. He is a bit of an unforgiving bastard. Also included is my terrible first sketch attempt to draw him. You will notice that his nose looks different which is on purpose and will be explained further in the book. The drawing of him is meant to resemble what he looks like when our heroes pick him up in 1920s Boston. And yes I am well aware that I should not quit my dayjob in pursuit of drawing ;)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyYtxUMRzC2bhpwb6YMT2OEaTfvtdsfxupfZDTeM5qkojH6KjYY8CTmhTbbwmN7Rc9vfDdNg9AFrZg6cFulrDerLCvv7Cwga-fFIx9rKFm-rWuJ9bIsyyxF5_cganRtJSdsiiLvOCA-Y/s1600/Cass+Drawing+2+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyYtxUMRzC2bhpwb6YMT2OEaTfvtdsfxupfZDTeM5qkojH6KjYY8CTmhTbbwmN7Rc9vfDdNg9AFrZg6cFulrDerLCvv7Cwga-fFIx9rKFm-rWuJ9bIsyyxF5_cganRtJSdsiiLvOCA-Y/s320/Cass+Drawing+2+001.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">So
Julian. You have come here today to tell us a little about yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I suppose a little will have to do unless
you have the time to dedicate quite a while to the cause but yes I have agreed
to shed some light on myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">First
things first. Of the little information we have about the EV3 project it seems
immensely complicated. You are very young to be leading a space-program of this
magnitude. How does it make you feel to know that most of personal are twice
your age and could never hope to have reached the position that you find
yourself in right now. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I suppose that my human reaction would be
to say that I am incredible proud of myself although I am probably older than
what your mind can conceive from just looking at me. I am a product of a larger
program initiated many centuries ago after all and although my bodily exterior
might be that of a young man I can probably put your mind to ease a slight by
telling you that I am the most competent man for the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">I
know from earlier interviews that you grew up with a human family. How has this
affected your upbringing do you think?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am very happy to be blessed with the
foster parents that chose me. I feel extremely privileged to have experienced a
normal upbringing that many of my kind are denied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">You
are of course referencing the facilities where many of your race are fostered
without ever knowing the outside world.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Yes. I am not here today to discuss the
reasoning behind these facilities only to recognise that I am grateful for the
chance given to me for a normal life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Can
you once and for all confirm that you were an inhabitant of planet earth before
its destruction?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It is true that I grew up on planet earth
as a part of a classified project yes, but I can assure you that I had long
since been removed by the time the earth died out and was never in any
immediate danger. Before you ask the
question that I know many of the people here on EV2 are dying to ask. Planet
Earth was neither as wonderful as the legends want us to believe. Humankind was
corrupted and living in filth. They treated those who could not fend for
themselves little better than animals with beatings, poisoning and weird
medical treatments which either made their own kind mad or killed them. I am
happy that the human race has been given another chance although I wish that
the choice had been offered to them when time came. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">I
thought we were not going to discuss politics. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Indeed. Excuse that interlude it is
something that is very near to my heart as an adopted child of other surviving
members of the original inhabitants of earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Tell
me and the readers more about earth that was then. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Ah see I don’t understand this odd
fascination of the past but very well I shall indulge you. The town I grew up
in had very tall buildings and many humans living close together. I was placed
at an institution as a small boy because of my looks which they dubbed eerie
and because I refused to talk to them. They probably thought I was mad but then
again how could they know that I was suffering from separation from my home
planet? When I grew older and started remembering the place I had left behind I
took up drawing. They brought me to live in the city and to be shown off as a
freak. They thought I could communicate with the dead and that I was a medium,
but when they found out that I never conveyed any messages but only drew all
day they put me back in the institution only to be taken out at special
occasions. It was at one of these outings that I was picked up by an expedition
sent from the future to save me and bring me here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Colonel
Aldrich’s expedition as far as I recall reading? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Indeed. Although back then he was not yet
colonel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">And
you remain close to him?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was brought up by his oldest daughter and
son in law. They already had responsibility for the colonel’s daughter and son,
so another child was hardly any big difference. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">The
colonel is very private about his family life and rarely ever speaks of his
children. Are they not close?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I would prefer not to comment on that. This
interview is about me and my work so far as I recall. All you need to know is
that his children are all well. His youngest daughter is showing great
potential and will if the universe is willing follow in her father’s footsteps
someday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">I can
understand that you yourself have tutored her?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t deny that. We are very close and
always have been. My biggest hope is that we can work together on future
projects. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Can
you explain this big project a bit further?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">To put it in simple words that your readers
might understand. We are in the process of either finding another suitable
planet or creating one from scratch that will hold a substantial amount of
people which, if calculations are correct, is exactly how many too much we will
be on this planet with more expeditions incoming every day and human beings in
general reproducing far faster than this planets resources will be able to
sustain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">And
when will this planet be ready for habitation?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Well first of all nothing is certain in
these cases. But within a generation of human-beings we should be able to send
the first colonists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">So
not in our lifetime?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Well not in your lifetime at least. But
then you get the satisfaction of marvelling at the brilliant future that is
offered to your children and grandchildren.
And should you live long enough to experience this miracle of the
universe it is very doubtful that you would be sent there in any case. I don’t
mean to be callous but at that point the crucial task will be to put together a
couple hundred fit human-beings with the knowledge needed to survive on a
somewhat barren planet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-23570506492444423662012-09-18T14:50:00.001+02:002012-09-18T14:50:06.606+02:00Research dayI don't know about you guys but I really love fall if nothing because it gives me time to snuggle up with a blanket and drink tea (and eat cake if I was allowed to do so. Soooooon the diet will be over) and research. No matter where I am in my life when this time of the year comes around I am always in the middle of a project, planning a project or more than often both. Right now I am keeping myself busy until the 24th of september where my fate my very well be decided. For those who don't know what I am talking about I can fill you in with two simple words; horrible jobmarked! I applied for a job, got an interview the day after sending my application but they are sadly bound by some law to let it go the full submission period before they make their decision known. It sucks for me, it sucks for them and it probably sucks for the unemployment people who get to listen to me moan about it tomorrow.<br />
What am I keeping myself busy with you ask? Well I will tell you my lovely readers. I have been researching! All of sudden someone on one of the forums I frequent put up an article that explained that Harper Voyager are looking for new unsolicited authors within a short timeframe between 1st-14 oct. So I thought I would dust off the old goodie project and get to writing. Oh how wrong I was. When it came down to it the most likely reason for my putting the manuscript away in the first place was that it was someone lacking in content. It lived up to the 50k word count that was required of NaNo but content wise it needed a major overhaul. After culling it with a giant axe I was down to 46k which has now crept back up to 49k after this last week. It is not quite enough writing to get me done in time for my personal deadline but most of my time has been put into researching a new character that I came up with very last moment but will fit perfectly into the story. When I am done researching insane asylums and spiritualism I might sit down and drawn him for you as he came to me in my dreams; A little wide-eyed boy who possesses the key to unlock a great secret of the universe but who is sadly stuck in a world that does not understand his abilities at all and thinks he is a nutcase.<br />
I leave you with something to do for me. I posted a very puzzling question on facebook the other day that at least some people went to the effort to answer in very creative ways:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">If you were stuck in a pocket in time and space. How would that room/place look? Would it be one color, full of memories floating about, maybe feel like some amazing kind of Alice in Wonderland hole in the ground where you kept falling? Lend me your ideas and you might just get included in my WIP. </span><br />
<br />Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-34804535560713977102012-09-06T15:18:00.000+02:002012-09-06T15:18:07.398+02:00A short story about creation.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My good friend Oreon is selling all things Oreon from her facebook page; </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/OwleryOfO">http://www.facebook.com/OwleryOfO</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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To promote it further she asked people to write a small story about this guy:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<img height="300" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/418745_484288161595234_114787250_n.jpg" width="400" />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Here is my suggestion for a story written in quick style (as in 10-15 writing, no editing). This is just a bit of fun to motivate me to write and give some free promotion to her so go have a look at her awesome stuff! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><b>The story of Levi Van Damme. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Once it had
entered his mind he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow writing about Levi
Van Damme was his life mission. He had been at a hotel enjoying the comforting
feeling of a tightly secured cover hugging his body all over when the idea had
struck him as lightning from a blue sky. What happened to the characters he
came up with for his stories when he discarded them? As he drifted uneasily in
and out of sleep he imagined a special city where all unused characters lived.
The city was divided into two parts, one white part where all the good
characters lived and one black part where all the bad characters lived. He also
imagined that in this city there was a grey zone in the middle where all the
characters that were neither good nor bad had their quarters. And in this grey
zone lived a doctor named Levi Van Damme who took the discarded limbs of horror
story protagonists and created his own unique beings that he sent out to haunt
the good people living in the white part of the city. He imagined that Van
Damme sent these beings into the nightmares of the authors who had willingly
cut the limbs off their subjects and that, in turn, would mean that they would be
reinvented and put into a story, in part restoring them to their former selves
in new wrapping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">As the cool
moonlight hit his face he sat up covered in cold sweat realizing just like Doctor
Frankenstein had once done, that he himself, in his pursuit of imagination, had
created this horrible monster called Levi Van Damme and by just producing these
thoughts he would have to write a story about an insane doctor with a big heart
who tried to give severed limbs another chance at life. He dreamed that the
doctor would one day be visited by a grey woman who wanted to be created and
that he would fall in love with her and therefore she would be written into his
story as well creating herself. He dreamt that they came to a big void at the
edge of imagination and that they stood there screaming for his attention and threatening
to jump and be forever deleted from his thoughts. And thus as he woke up the
following morning he knew he would write their story and save these characters
from the oblivion that all the others had disappeared into. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-8344332932146621602012-09-05T21:52:00.004+02:002012-09-05T21:53:05.039+02:00Character creation 101.On a recent trip to England I somehow ended up buying yet another of those smart self-help books for wannabe authors that seem to be floating around our circles. I wasn't really convinced that I needed another of <i>those</i> books but I bought it anyway after flipping through it. I won't go so far as to state that it is the best book on writing I have read, but it is certainly not the worst and at this point I need to write to live pretty much and felt I could well do with some more advice. The book is called; Your Writing Coach and is by Jurgen Wolff.<br />
I must admit that now I am half-way through it the book has turned out to be an interesting read. Especially his notion that new writers would do well with following a simple lay-out for character creation as the one laid out by Lajos Egri in his book The Art of Dramatic Writing struck a cord with me. It sent me back to the drawing board and forced me to reevaluate some of the characters I have been plotting for my newest work in progress. If anything it made me realize that even characters in a romance/fantasy novel need to be fleshed out. As Wolff states it is crucial for the reader's experience with your book that your characters are believable and in order for them to be believable you need to know everything there is to know about them, but reveal only 2/3 of it to still keep some suspense. What follows is my retyping of Egri's scheme for character creation that I at least will be using this time around even if it is fairly time consuming. (I apologize for the color coding system, it is merely a tool I use when writing in scrivener)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">1. Age: </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">2. Appearance:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">3. How does the character feel about their appearance: </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">4. Describe the character’s childhood in terms of: </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> A: relationship to parents.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> B: Relationship to siblings if any:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> C: Relationship to other key people from his or her youth:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> D: Lifestyle while growing up:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> E: Education:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> F: Childhood activities: (hobbies, interests)</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> G: Locations where he or she grew up: </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">5: Describe the character’s education during and after the teen years.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">6: Describe the character’s current relationships with:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> A: Parents:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> B: Sibling:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;"> C: Other key people from his or her youth:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">7: Describe the character’s romantic life and any relevant background:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">8: Describe the character’s sex life and moral beliefs:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">9: Does the character have any children? If so describe his or her relationship with them. If not, how does he or she feel about children?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">10: What is the character’s religious background? Current beliefs?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">11: What is the character’s occupation:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">12: Describe the character’s relationship to his/her boss and co-workers:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">13: How does the character feel about his/her job?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">14: What are the character’s current hobbies or non-work activities?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">15: Describe the character’s philosophy of life:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">16: Describe the character’s political point of view:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">17: Sum up the main aspects of your character’s personality:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">18: What is the character proud of?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">19: What is the character ashamed of?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">20: What is his or her state of health?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">21: How intelligent is he or she?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #e1ff49; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">22: Summerize the character’s relationship to other major characters in your story:</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #ff86ca; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">23: What is the character’s goal in the story?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #ff86ca; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">24: Why does he she want to achieve this goal?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #ff86ca; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">25: Who or what stands in way of the character? Why?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #ff86ca; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">26: What strengths or qualities will help this character achieve the goal?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #ff86ca; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">27: What weaknesses will hinder the character from achieving the goal?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #38ff71; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">28: How articulate is the character?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #38ff71; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">29: Are you planning on killing this character off?</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="background-color: #38ff71; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 12pt;">30: Will this character be in the sequal?</span></div>
Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-58276297124298969742012-07-10T13:48:00.001+02:002012-07-10T13:52:37.513+02:00The New Death and Others by James Hutchings.<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So very caught-up at the moment by preparations for LARP, pagan summercamp and going to England! Even in the midst of all the chaos I have still found some time to read and follow up on a very old promise. So here follows a review of <i>The New Death and Others </i>by James Hutchings. This is his blog page. If you are not already following him I suggest that you do.<br /> <br /><a href="http://apolitical.info/teleleli/">http://apolitical.info/teleleli/</a><br /><br />A while ago I was approached by James and asked if I would do a review of his new book (available on smashwords) possibly highlighting its suitability as a background for roleplaying games in the tabletop genre. As I already had a group starting up a new campaign I said yes and got to reading. I quickly found myself emerged in the fantastic world and characters of <i>The New Death</i> and found plenty of inspiration for my campaign.<br /> <br /><b>The book itself:</b><br /> <br />As a person who usually steers far away from short-story collections (too many bad memories of University) I was pleasingly surprised by how much I enjoyed this book. The stories are short and sharp, but even for a fast reader like me there is many hours of relaxed enjoyment in the company of Gods, humans and all those in between. Most of the stories contain some kind of fantastical element in them, heavily influenced by myths and stories. A mix of Lovecraftian horror and One thousand and one nights makes this book a page-turner. Be advised though, that if you are a traditionalist in the fairy-tale department you will find this book very frustrating. I am more of the opposite as I love new interpretations of old stories. In my opinion this helps keep the craft of story telling alive and <i>The New Death</i> is an excellent representation of what happens when fairy-tales are viewed through the eyes of a more modern audience. As stated this is just a warning as I have done plenty of University courses with people who would instantly discard this as rubbish, new interpretations are not for everyone! The reader must be prepared to see their favorite childhood characters in new settings, like the story of Rumpelstiltskin (now popularized by the hit series Once upon a Time) who is bested by google in his search to find a poor girl who he can goat into spinning gold from bullshit. From this we are taught that if you can’t do anything else, get into politics.<br /> I won’t go into details with all the stories as it would spoil the surprise, but if you are into quirky characters and fantastic backgrounds, then you will find stories in here for you.<br /> <br /><b>Adaption into a table-top game.</b><br /><br />For our campaign I chose the story of How the Isle of Cats Got Its Name as a lead-in to the setting of the game itself. The story goes like this. A sorceress named Abi-simti would sacrifice everything to gain new knowledge until the only magic she does not know comes directly from the gods. To gain an audience with the only god whos magic she does not know, she builds a harp which is powered by the sound of cats being prodded by nails. Unfortunately for her she has forgotten that the witches of said god are cat-lovers and they of course have their revenge.<br /> In our campaign the character of Abi-simti was also a mighty sorcerer with the power to douse a whole town and make them oblivious to her activities in stealing every cat she could find. Except these were not really cats of course, but cat-people who she forced into staying in their cat form so she could torture and sacrifice them to gain the attention of evil goddess of death and lust. But to finish her contraption she needed the most pure item in town, a flagellant whip owned by the high priest of the Dungar, God of war. Of course the high priest was not exactly willing to give up something so holy. Enter the adventurers who were sold the story of the high priest being a heathen and sent to steal the whip from him. How they got the whip is a long story, which involved hiring a rent-boy and other such things.<br /> Somehow they did manage to steal the whip and get away without being caught, only to discover that their good natured host was in the midst of a blood-rite in the local druid circle. In the end they did stop her evil rites just to be told by the poor captured cat people that this was only the beginning of their hardship and that she was in reality a part of a much larger conspiracy.<br /> For any budding GM this book will offer a multitude of ideas and characters to use in various campaigns and game settings from the Dungeons and Dragons that we used to a Call of Cthulhu setting.<br /> </span>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-53032343704622796262012-06-04T23:31:00.002+02:002012-06-04T23:31:53.864+02:00A teaser from my WIP<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Here is a little teaser from my current project. Just to </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">clarify</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> I don't edit along the way, only when I am done so there might occur mistakes etc and the text might seem a bit rough around the edges. </span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">They followed the overgrown path out of town as they had done so many
times before, walking in silence as the moon cast eerie shadows around them.
With every passing day they both felt an urgency to have these secret meetings
that neither of them could really explain. It was common knowledge that the two
young ones had a very special relationship and were rarely seen around town
without each other, so why this sudden need for secrecy Merija pondered on once
again. The path cleared ahead of them
and revealed a small meadow with a large tree in the middle. In front of the
tree a small plot had been dug and a small improvised wooden cross marked the
spot where they had laid to rest the dog that they had both cared for. The dog
had been a stray left by a knight at the baron’s last banquet almost 7 years
ago. These days the baron did not entertain much and it was rare that the local
town-folk saw anything of him or his family. The dog that they had lovingly
named Half-tail had not been popular with the trades-men always sniffing and
licking, sometimes even marking its territory, but it had not deserved the fate
it was given. Early one morning Merija had woken to find the whimpering dog
outside the bakery, seemingly it had been attacked by a larger animal and died
soon afterwards in her arms. It had licked her hand to the end and when it died
she felt a little part of her die with it. Even now tears came to her eyes by
the mere thought. Eigan shrugged impatiently when he followed her gaze and
started the journey up the tree. Something about the whole incident always
stirred weird reactions in Eigan that she could not quite understand. Sometimes
he seemed almost remorseful as if he had been the one who had killed the dog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US"> Almost concealed to the world
around them they both climbed the tree with ease having in-depth knowledge of
the nooks and holes best suited for such a thing. In the treetop they had hung
various instruments of entertainment; a book, a lantern, a pouch with some left
over dried fruit and a deck of cards. Sometimes Merija would bring some sweet
rolls from the bakery if she had made mistakes and they had to be thrown to the
pigs anyway, but lately she had been too good at following her father’s
instructions. Eigan motioned to turn on the lantern when they heard heavy
footsteps stepping through the canopy below them. He froze and drew the hood
over his head once again. Merija hoped that the thickness of the branches and
the fact that the moon was not partly concealed behind clouds would hide her
from view. The penalty for being outside the town after darkness was not harsh,
because the creatures that sometimes hunted in these parts would deal a harsher
punishment than anything you would experience in town. Shaking with fear she
reached out for Eigan’s hand and clung on to it as she found it, her heart
pounding so hard against her rib-cage that she was convinced whatever was down
there would hear her. There had been no reports of wild creatures taking any of
the villager’s live-stock so this would be the first anyone would hear of them
before the killings started again. Merija and Eigan had only been small
children when the last pack of rat-men had haunted the forests surrounding the
city. Further south it was normal to see these half-breeds among normal people,
but here north of the capitol the creatures had become feral with hunger and
the prosecuting that the King could do little to stop. The northerners had
traditions that meant more to them than some fancy high lord down south and the
division of normal humans from beastly half-breeds was one of them. This was
the unwritten laws of the north that they did best to follow even if they did
not agree with it completely. Merija allowed herself to glance at the movement
below them in hopes to catch a glimpse of what ever awaited them when they
descended from the tree. As the moonlight broke through the clouds it became
clear that these creatures moved too clumsily to be any form of beast and she
inhaled more freely again. Most likely it was just a pair of lovers looking for
a safe place outside the city walls to declare their love to each other and
whatever else people in love did. Merija had little knowledge of what went on
between a man and a woman, but she had heard her sister’s friends whispering
about the pains that a woman must endure when giving herself to her husband.
Judging by the sounds she had overheard between her parents she was inclined to
believe them. A head of blonde hair tied up with a ribbon finally emerged in
the clearing below them. A girl, not much older than herself but much nicer
dressed than she had ever been stomped through the thick canopy followed by a
gruff looking man wearing a suit of leather armor. She did not know either of
them, but she recognized the sigil that was carefully woven into the man’s
tabard. These people belonged to the Baron and judging by the elegant clothing
and blonde hair Merija guessed that this girl was related to the Baron himself.
Only Baron Eiekheart’s family had blonde hair around here. True northerners
like herself and Eigan had red or dark brown hair, but the Baron’s family was
not from around here. He had been appointed lord protector of their area for services
in the war against some island country to the east and had replaced the old
Duke who had resided in these parts for as long as people remembered but who
was no longer in the king’s favor. The
girl paused below them and looked around seemingly in an attempt to make sure
that they were alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Are you sure this is where we are meeting them?” Judging by the sour
expression of the guard this was not the first time she had asked this question
tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I am sure Lady Elina. Only a handful of people know this path even
exists and I would like to keep it that way. “<o:p></o:p></span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-84707239563189502422012-06-03T12:16:00.000+02:002012-06-03T12:16:16.059+02:00Camping and yoga.1st of June has always meant first exams of the year, waiting another long hard month for vacation time and last year it marked the impending doom of a serious deadline waiting at the other end of the hot wet summer; Master's thesis! I finished, got my diploma and life went on even if it did not seem to be the case while I was writing. I had seriously neglected writing, reading, exercising, seeing friends and family (and probably many other things) to get to this point in my life. I had opted out of competitions that I would have stood a good chance in and enjoying the things in life that mattered. Now almost a year later I find that life is slowly returning to normal albeit a bit more stressful. I still have the same crappy boss for freelance work, I am still looking for that dream job I know is waiting for me out there (might have found it, but that is another story), my husband is still as loving and caring as he has even been, the cats are still bastards, my family estranged and my addiction to food is still overwhelming. But I have slowly started the progress towards becoming a more rounded me; I started a 30-day yoga program today that I will work hard to finish!<br />
Go here to take a look:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wholefoodfitness.blogspot.dk/p/30-day-yoga-challenge.html">http://wholefoodfitness.blogspot.dk/p/30-day-yoga-challenge.html</a><br />
<br />
And thanks again Becca!<br />
<br />
Besides from making yoga a firm addition to my lifestyle I am also participating in Campnanowrimo both in June (now) and August. In between I am of course doing the Coursera course in literature - see <a href="http://theyear2011-cassandra.blogspot.dk/2012/04/short-blog-post.html">http://theyear2011-cassandra.blogspot.dk/2012/04/short-blog-post.html</a> for a blog post about this.<br />
I have so far written 808 words in 3 days which is way too little and I must get going today, once shopping is settled and over with. I am thinking notebook, allotment and me might be a good bet for what I will be doing most of this afternoon. Anyway, my nano project in June is called A lost city (working title) and is a fantasy romance set in a very warhammer-ish background, without falling victim to copyright infringement of course, starring childhood sweethearts reunited in a time of crisis. It includes knights in shining armor, maidens not wanting to wait for said knights to fix their problems, scoundrels with big hearts, priestesses that are anything but pure, crazy bakers/sales-men/council members, zombies, demons, magic and fire. It will be epic! I might set up a donation version of my august trials, but it is yet to be seen. Is it really fair to extort money from friends and family if you are not sure you can sell the damned thing? I leave you with the synopsis for my work in June:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fdf8df; color: #4b3a19; font-family: Verdana, 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 12px;">When childhood sweethearts Merija and Eigen are reunited after years apart, much has changed between them in their separate quests to forget the tragic event that forced them apart. Returning now to her childhood city to mourn the death of her parents, will Merija be able to forgive and forget, and will she once again find a home in the lost city where nothing is as it seems? Battling supernatural horrors and the corruption of the city council they are facing a race to reconcile in time to save their families, their city and possibly their love before they too are consumed by the evil that lurks both in the forest, but also in the hearts of men.</span>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-92128979981210446732012-05-24T19:35:00.005+02:002012-05-24T19:35:45.086+02:00Still aliveHello blog-land.<br />
First off, I am still alive and in fairly good health, I have just been more than normally busy the last couple of weeks with slave-work and real editing jobs. I also had quite a run in with the unemployment people and their stupid rules for what I can and can't do, and most of all what they can't seem to agree on in regards to my case.<br />
Other than that I have been gardening; cauliflower, strawberries, kale, potatoes, soya-beans, broad beans, cucumbers, chili plants, herbs, radishes, blueberries and tomatoes have all been yearning for my attention.<br />
But I am still alive and kicking. I am starting prep for next months CampNaNo which has been even more confusing this year as I have many great ideas and I am not quite sure which one to work on. My old NaNo project is still lying dormant somewhere on my hard drive and I have pretty much not touched it since November. Am I destroying all my joy in writing by doing it this way or am I in reality just preparing myself to a life of many sleepless nights to meet deadlines and whatever follows when I get my head around self-publishing?<br />
I dug out this old article for a fellow writing colleague today and was once again fighting my temper with this man.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/jun/02/vs-naipaul-jane-austen-women-writers">http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/jun/02/vs-naipaul-jane-austen-women-writers</a>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-80634614836817252212012-05-01T18:47:00.001+02:002012-05-01T18:47:13.078+02:00The morning after....Even if I only joined the for second half of this years A-Z challenge I still feel absolutely pooped out. And yet I signed up for aStoryaday. There will be a story coming up later tonight, but right now I will enjoy the rest of the sun and Beltaine.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-71655829827363683632012-04-30T14:49:00.002+02:002012-04-30T14:49:53.242+02:00A-Z: Zephyrus, the gentle wind.I end on a highly geeky note with the Greek Anemoi; Boreas, Notus, Zephyrus and Eurus, the 4 winged guardians of wind. Zephyrus<span style="line-height: 1.5em;">, or just</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span><b style="line-height: 1.5em;">Zephyr</b><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">(</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_language" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; color: #0b0080; line-height: 1.5em; text-decoration: none;" title="Greek language">Greek</a><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">:</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span><span lang="el" style="line-height: 1.5em;" xml:lang="el">Ζέφυρος, <i>Zéphuros</i>, "the west wind"</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">), in Latin Favonius, is the Greek god of the</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_wind" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; color: #0b0080; line-height: 1.5em; text-decoration: none;" title="West wind">west wind</a><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">. The gentlest of the winds, Zephyrus is known as the fructifying wind, the messenger of spring. It was thought that Zephyrus lived in a cave in</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thrace" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; color: #0b0080; line-height: 1.5em; text-decoration: none;" title="Thrace">Thrace</a><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">.</span><br />
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Zephyrus was reported as having several wives in different stories. He was said to be the husband of his sister <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_(mythology)" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Iris (mythology)">Iris</a>, the goddess of the rainbow. He abducted another of his sisters, the goddess Chloris, and gave her the domain of flowers. With <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chloris" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Chloris">Chloris</a>, he fathered <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karpos" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Karpos">Carpus</a> ("fruit"). He is said to have vied for Chloris's love with his brother <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anemoi#Boreas" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Anemoi">Boreas</a>, eventually winning her devotion. Additionally, with yet another sister and lover, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpy" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Harpy">harpy</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Podarge" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Podarge">Podarge</a> (also known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celaeno" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Celaeno">Celaeno</a>), Zephyrus was said to be the father of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balius_and_Xanthus" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Balius and Xanthus">Balius and Xanthus</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achilles" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Achilles">Achilles</a>' horses.</div>
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One of the surviving myths in which Zephyrus features most prominently is that of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyacinth_(mythology)" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Hyacinth (mythology)">Hyacinth</a>. Hyacinth was a very handsome and athletic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sparta" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Sparta">Spartan</a> prince. Zephyrus fell in love with him and courted him, and so did <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Apollo">Apollo</a>. The two competed for the boy's love, but he chose Apollo, driving Zephyrus mad with jealousy. Later, catching Apollo and Hyacinth throwing a <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Discus" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Discus">discus</a>, Zephyrus blew a gust of wind at them, striking the boy in the head with the falling discus. When Hyacinth died, Apollo created the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyacinth_(plant)" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Hyacinth (plant)">hyacinth flower</a> from his blood.<sup class="reference plainlinks nourlexpansion" id="ref_hyacinth" style="line-height: 1em;"><a class="external autonumber" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anemoi#endnote_hyacinth" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: url(data:image/png; background-origin: initial; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; color: #663366; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 13px; padding-top: 0px !important; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[2]</a></sup></div>
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In the story of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cupid_and_Psyche" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Cupid and Psyche">Cupid and Psyche</a>, Zephyrus served <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cupid" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Cupid">Cupid</a> by transporting Psyche to his cave.</div>
<h3 style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; font-size: 17px; margin-bottom: 0.3em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0.17em; padding-top: 0.5em; width: auto;">
<span class="editsection" style="-webkit-user-select: none; float: right; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin-left: 5px;">[<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Anemoi&action=edit&section=7" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Edit section: Favonius">edit</a>]</span><span class="mw-headline" id="Favonius">Favonius</span></h3>
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Zephyrus' Roman equivalent was <b>Favonius</b>, who held dominion over plants and flowers. The name <i>Favonius</i>, which meant "favorable", was also a common <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_Rome" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ancient Rome">Roman</a> <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_naming_convention" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Roman naming convention">name</a>.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.5em;">Yet again taken from Wikipedia, I thought it would serve well as the last blog post of the challenge. It feels like the gentle winds of the west have been breezing through blog land this last month, inspiring some and </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">extinguishing</span><span style="line-height: 1.5em;"> others. It has been a wild ride folks and you have all been a part of it!</span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-54283631573895830282012-04-29T12:39:00.001+02:002012-04-29T12:39:08.284+02:00Sunday is lazy dayExcept for all the work that I need to do. But in between all the editing I have been commisened to do I still have a bit of time to surf the interwebs.<br />
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<a href="http://druidchickz.deviantart.com/art/It-Was-Red-261084547">http://druidchickz.deviantart.com/art/It-Was-Red-261084547</a>
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Is the daily deviant. Check her stuff out and tell me you are not awestruck and inspired by it? I wish I could draw like that, but someone like her comes once a lifetime I reckon.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-71913546938268316862012-04-28T22:08:00.002+02:002012-04-28T22:08:54.514+02:00A-Z: YAMy discussion topic for today is which genres of fiction are generally portrayed as less worthy literature. First though a little anecdote. This is a true story no matter how cheesy it sounds: <br />
When I was a little girl and sitting on my grandfather's knee on Christmas eve and he asked me what I wanted most for Christmas my instant answer was to ask for a typewriter. My dad laughed at this and asked me what on earth I wanted something like that for and I answered that real writers had typewriters. My dad (who passed away some time ago) was not the most supportive admirer of the creative crafts and shrugged me off with the following words: Don't ever do anything to do with creativity for a living as you will die young and poor. Of course I did what any other sensible child would and started crying, inwardly believing his words to be the true wisdom of an adult. Admittingly I never really had a good relationship with him after that but moved ever closer to my new foster family and my granddad who just for some reason always seemed to get me better than any other person on this planet. When I turned 16 and moved away from home my grandfather was there by my side packing boxes and helping me assemble my new furniture and as I sat in a half empty apartment that first night on my own feeling a bit sorry for myself and wanting to go back to my grans house and just stay there if anything just to avoid the smell of burnt food, I heard a knock on the door and outside was a delivery man who apologized for knocking on my door so late, but the person who had ordered the delivery had insisted that it was sent out that day and so he had stayed an extra hour to make sure that it got there. I signed for the box feeling very adult and a bit flabbergasted as he was good-looking and well, I was a 16-year old geeky looking girl who hoped he had not seen any marvel posters in the back-ground when I opened the door.<br />
In the box was a brand new computer with a note that simply read: I know it is not a typewriter, but it will have to do. Just write anything you want. I recognized my grandfather's handwriting and realized that after all those years he had managed to remember the look of utter disappointment on my face while I sat crying on his knee.<br />
I still have the computer although it is an antique by modern standards now. As if it is blessed with some special kind of love it still works, even now after 10 years. As a trusty companion it has outlived both my beloved grandfather and my father, it has suffered moving apartments a multitude of times and being thrown at exes in rage. It might run the oldest version of windows you will ever find on a laptop and weigh a ton, but it will never be thrown out!<br />
So what was the purpose of this story? I often get people asking me to try and define what genre of books I tend to write and every time that little note of write anything you want, pops back in to my head. I have worked on romance novels, none-fiction books on Shakespeare and many other things, I have written fantasy, sci-fi, I tried my luck at a western but never quite got my head around it, but the fact of the matter is that I have never even thought that one of these genres was worth less than any other. It seems that many other people disagree with me on this topic. Through different writing and reading groups I have found that there is a general tendency for admiring everyday fiction and look down on romance novels and the like, judging them as light literature. Maybe people are forgetting that even a romance novel writer has to have a certain amount of skill to be popular enough to sell books and that even writer like that spends many hours drafting, writing, pitching etc. So next time you shrug at someone or point fingers (you know who you are) because they are only a romance novel writer or can never write anything "serious" remember that inside of them they have a small boy or girl who wants to know that their work is still worth something even if it doesn't bring in the big bucks or wins a fancy reward!<br />
<br />Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-42394595075326013342012-04-27T16:53:00.001+02:002012-04-27T16:53:27.953+02:00A-Z: ToXicI know it is technically cheating, but we don't make use of the letter X in the danish alphabet and I am already feeling pretty handicapped as it with all these weird end of alphabet letters that we either don't have or don't use.<br />
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Here is an article from Wiki on Danish language: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danish_language">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danish_language</a><br />
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Here is one on the alphabet in particular: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danish_and_Norwegian_alphabet">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danish_and_Norwegian_alphabet</a><br />
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My headline should probably be expanded on a bit. I have just finished reading Maria Snyder's Yelena Sultana series and not to put anyone off but as far as young adult goes it was not the best I have read. Here is what the caption says about the first book, Poison Study (Hence toxic):<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">About to be executed for murder, Yelena is offered an extraordinary reprieve. She'll eat the best meals, have rooms in the palace—and risk assassination by anyone trying to kill the Commander of Ixia.
</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">And so Yelena chooses to become a food taster. But the chief of security, leaving nothing to chance, deliberately feeds her Butterfly's Dust—and only by appearing for her daily antidote will she delay an agonizing death from the poison.
</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">As Yelena tries to escape her new dilemma, disasters keep mounting. Rebels plot to seize Ixia and Yelena develops magical powers she can't control. Her life is threatened again and choices must be made. But this time the outcomes aren't so clear…</span>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Whereas the premise for the story is really good and the first book is a very entertaining read it is one of those series that you end up wishing had just stopped after the first installment because it gets weirder and weirder and not in a good sense. Anyway, if you are in the mood for some YA fantasy then try the first book, but do consider yourself warned. </span></span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-28256950726186587902012-04-27T16:36:00.001+02:002012-04-27T16:36:51.172+02:00A-Z: W a little lateMy W stands for World of Warcraft and yet another character back-ground that I started writing about but never finished. It was supposed to be the story of a young girl who expectantly is given a path that she was not quite expecting. Her teacher is a rough roguish kind of man who has killed almost as many as he has broken hearts and who has found a way to communicate with her through dreamworlds by tapping into unknown and quite dangerous magic.<br />
I never wrote more than a chapter of her story as I stopped playing the character all together, but I imagine that it would have made quite a nice coming of age novel if it had been completed. Hopefully for the none WoWers following this blog it will still make sense. As with other stuff I have posted this story is not edited nor has it seen any public sharing at any point.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The story of Jinni:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The dream. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The night was cool and quiet. The only sound heard in
Darnassus was the walking of the sentinels as they patrolled the streets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But somewhere the moon fell on a young nightelf, who
in her dreams could not find peace. The same dream almost every night for the
last year. Since she had been sent to the temple of Elune by her father. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First it started of peacefully, her dream self was
playing in her room with a doll of some sort, but the dream always changed
character after a while. Men and women screaming, a door that flew open and a
man who told her to get in the closet and hide. She had a sense that he was
someone important to her, maybe a relative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From the closet her dream self had a view through a
crack to everything going on. Another man, she did not know entered the room.
But this man was different, there was something frightening and yet beautiful
about him. He was graceful as he sliced the other man’s throat. Her dream self
gasped and the killer turned around. Those eyes as he searched the room, had
some magical in them, she could not explain. She was sure that he knew she was
there, but he didn’t do anything about it. A shiver ran through her young body.
He just smiled, with a smear of blood across his face. And then he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jinni awoke, heart thumbing hard in her chest. The
moon that fell in the room brought her back to reality. Why this man and why
now? She got up and put on her shoes and a shawl. Again she would spend the
night by the altar of Elune seeking answer to questions which she didn’t want
to carry. She walked cross the path in the moonlit town of Darnassus and
sighed. She had long been a woman, but still had no purpose in life. Her father
had sent her here in hopes that maybe priesthood would suit her, but she had
soon given up and distanced herself from the daily work of the other
priestesses. She now cooked and cleaned for them and they treated her as one of
their own, telling her that Elune eventually gives everyone a path, but she did
not believe them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She entered the temple and saw to her astonishment
that she wasn’t alone this night. At the altar sat a lady, younger than
herself. She was the one that the high priestess had warned her about. She had
taken her faith in her own hands, divorced an unfaithful husband and found
another father for her child, a human Paladin. Disgrace was what the High
Priestess had said. And yet she had been given a chance to redeem herself. They
had cut of her hair and made her start over, but not once had Jinni heard her
complain. They had even taken her child away and forbidden her to see her lover
again, but the young nightelf still had a smile on her face and did all the
unwanted chores without ever saying anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She looked up as Jinni sat down by the altar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Another sleepless night Miss Jinniye?” Jinni winced,
only her father and the High Priestess insisted on calling her by her full
name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Please, it’s just Jinni” The younger woman nodded and
smiled. They sat there in silence for a while, both praying in their own way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You know it helps to talk about it Jinni, I know that
you are down here every night.” Jinni looked at her puzzled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Every time a baby cries I think it’s my Moradae and I
have to get up. I have often seen you walking towards the temple. Now please tell
me what is on your mind.” Jinni sighed and looked at her hands. Maybe the
priestess was right, maybe she would understand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I have this dream, a dream about a family being
murdered and I feel like it’s a past that I have been a part off. Like some distant
memory from another life, but that’s impossible. My family is safe and I’m sure
my father would have told me if I had been witness to such a thing. “<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Have you talked to your father about this dream?
Maybe he can explain it for you.” Jinni blushed and looked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I sense there is more, something you are not telling
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“There is a man, the killer. There is something about
him I cannot tell, like he is still out there waiting for me and I’m not sure
that it is a bad thing. I mean he obviously killed that family, but in my dream
when he looked at me, I sensed something else. A sense of warmth and love that
he is not able to let out.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The priestess looked a bit paler than usual, but still
looked at Jinni. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I knew a man like that once. He was a killer, but at
the same time a friend. He did things, unforgivable things, but yet he still
has a place in my heart.” The priestess got up and looked at the altar without
really looking at it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You need to talk to your father about it. Maybe Elune
is showing you your path at last. It might be that this man needs your help,
just as you need him. You must find him, I am sure of that.” Jinni arose as
well and dusted herself off. She had the feeling that the conversation was
over. She bowed to the priestess and left the temple, a little wiser on her
path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Priestess Anáwiel looked after the nightelf. She had
recognized something in this young girl that she had carried herself not long
ago. A determination to find her fate and pursue it. She sighed, embracing
herself. There had been something else in the girl, something that stirred Anás
memory and she wished she could remember what. She would write to her mother
about. Maybe the wise older lady would have all the answers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-7587788877039601072012-04-25T23:24:00.000+02:002012-04-25T23:24:35.507+02:00A PS.I almost forgot this because my day has been generally stressful and I should have posted this yesterday under U. I must confess to have the hugest crush on Mrs. Amanda Fucking Palmer and her Ukulele. I am on her mailing list and found myself at 4 in the morning getting a notice on my phone telling me that I had an email from her. Now I had been out to a party the night before and was in that middle-ground of being drunk and sleepy, but my head was still buzzing from the love I had felt all night from my friends. So I opened the mail and listened to her new song and I cried a little, I laughed a lot and I just loved it. The message was pure as only she could tell it and made me want to learn even more than before to play the Ukulele. I give you the Ukulele song for your enjoyment:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZaR_4us6Ec">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZaR_4us6Ec</a>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-27298135989606470622012-04-25T23:18:00.000+02:002012-04-25T23:18:50.280+02:00A-Z: Vikings.As some people might have figured out by now I am from Denmark which by most people is mainly known for Bacon, Carlsberg and Vikings... (And as the capital of Ikea by most of the Americans I have met)<br />
Alright so here goes:<br />
Bacon! First off it seems that we export all our good bacon to England and keep all the shite stuff for ourselves. When we go on holiday to visit my loving mother-in-law she enjoys making bacon-butties for me with loads of nice crispy meatful bacon and although she buys one of the cheapest brands she can find, it still tastes loads better than the crap we can get at home and get this... it is all danish bacon.<br />
Carlsberg: So every other nation in the world seems to enjoy this liquid, I on the other hand do not. Carlsberg is for me what Stella Antois is for brits, something moderately cheap that I associate with terrible family parties and have friends that still insist on buying because it is cheap enough to get drunk on, but not quite as bad as the stuff you buy in Lidl or Aldi.<br />
Vikings: Now I don't know why it is generally believed that all danish men are 6.2 tall and blond (Maybe watching too many movies) but that is really not the case. I guess every country has that one thing that everyone always associates them with and which can drive you absolutely mental when you go abroad. Vikings are that thing for me. Now I feel the need to educate some of those people reading this who might be lead to think that me and my family are all big burly people who eat mushrooms and go berserk at any given time. (although it would make the family parties that much more fun) <br />
I am 5.5, my sister is 5.3... My brother might be 6 foot but he is as skinny as a stick and is as likely to be able to survive a battle situation as I am to ever buy a Bacardi breezer. Here are some more misconceptions taken from Wiki that should set some thing straight for you.<br />
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<span class="mw-headline" id="Common_misconceptions_concerning_the_Vikings">Common misconceptions concerning the Vikings</span></h3>
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<span class="mw-headline" id="Horned_helmets">Horned helmets</span></h4>
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Main article: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horned_helmet" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Horned helmet">Horned helmet</a></div>
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Apart from two or three representations of (ritual) helmets – with protrusions that may be either stylised ravens, snakes or horns – no depiction of Viking Age warriors' helmets, and no preserved helmet, has horns. In fact, the formal close-quarters style of Viking combat (either in shield walls or aboard "ship islands") would have made horned helmets cumbersome and hazardous to the warrior's own side.</div>
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Therefore historians believe that Viking warriors did not use horned helmets, but whether or not such helmets were used in Scandinavian culture for other, ritual purposes remains unproven. The general misconception that Viking warriors wore horned helmets was partly promulgated by the 19th century enthusiasts of <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geatish_Society" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Geatish Society">Götiska Förbundet</a></i>, founded in 1811 in <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stockholm,_Sweden" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Stockholm, Sweden">Stockholm, Sweden</a>. They promoted the use of Norse mythology as the subject of high art and other ethnological and moral aims.</div>
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The Vikings were often depicted with winged helmets and in other clothing taken from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classical_antiquity" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Classical antiquity">Classical antiquity</a>, especially in depictions of Norse gods. This was done in order to legitimise the Vikings and their mythology by associating it with the Classical world which had long been idealised in European culture.</div>
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The latter-day <i>mythos</i> created by <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Romanticism" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="National Romanticism">national romantic ideas</a> blended the Viking Age with aspects of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nordic_Bronze_Age" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Nordic Bronze Age">Nordic Bronze Age</a> some 2,000 years earlier. Horned helmets from the Bronze Age were shown in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petroglyph" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Petroglyph">petroglyphs</a> and appeared in archaeological finds (see <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohusl%C3%A4n" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Bohuslän">Bohuslän</a> and <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vikso" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Vikso">Vikso</a> helmets). They were probably used for ceremonial purposes.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-51" style="line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viking#cite_note-51" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[52]</a></sup></div>
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Cartoons like <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%A4gar_the_Horrible" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Hägar the Horrible">Hägar the Horrible</a></i> and <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vicky_the_Viking" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Vicky the Viking">Vicky the Viking</a></i>, and sports uniforms such as those of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minnesota_Vikings" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Minnesota Vikings">Minnesota Vikings</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canberra_Raiders" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Canberra Raiders">Canberra Raiders</a> football teams have perpetuated the mythic cliché of the horned helmet.</div>
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Viking helmets were conical, made from hard leather with wood and metallic reinforcement for regular troops. The iron helmet with mask and chain mail was for the chieftains, based on the previous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vendel" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Vendel">Vendel</a>-age helmets from central Sweden. The only true Viking helmet found is that from<a class="new" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Gjermundbu&action=edit&redlink=1" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #a55858; text-decoration: none;" title="Gjermundbu (page does not exist)">Gjermundbu</a> in Norway. This helmet is made of iron and has been dated to the 10th century.</div>
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<span class="mw-headline" id="Use_of_skulls_as_drinking_vessels">Use of skulls as drinking vessels</span></h4>
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Main article: <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skull_cups" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Skull cups">Skull cups</a></div>
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The use of human skulls as drinking vessels—another common motif in popular pictorial representations of the Vikings—is also ahistorical. The rise of this legend can be traced to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ole_Worm" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ole Worm">Ole Worm</a>'s <i>Runer seu Danica literatura antiquissima</i> (1636), in which Danish warriors drinking <i>ór bjúgviðum hausa</i>[from the curved branches of skulls, i.e. from horns] were rendered as drinking <i>ex craniis eorum quos ceciderunt</i> [from the skulls of those whom they had slain]. The skull-cup allegation may also have some history in relation with other Germanic tribes and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eurasian_nomads" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Eurasian nomads">Eurasian nomads</a>, such as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scythians" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Scythians">Scythians</a>and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pechenegs" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Pechenegs">Pechenegs</a>, and the vivid example of the Lombard <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alboin" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Alboin">Alboin</a>, made notorious by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_the_Deacon" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Paul the Deacon">Paul the Deacon</a>'s <i>History</i>.</div>
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There may also be some confusion between "skull" and the Norse/Icelandic word for a drinking cup, skál. This is a common <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toast_(honor)" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Toast (honor)">toast</a> in Scandinavian countries.</div>
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<span class="mw-headline" id="Barbarity">Barbarity</span></h4>
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The image of wild-haired, dirty savages sometimes associated with the Vikings in popular culture<sup class="noprint Inline-Template" style="line-height: 1em; white-space: nowrap;">[<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Please_clarify" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Wikipedia:Please clarify"><span title="The text in the vicinity of this tag needs clarification or removal of jargon from September 2008">clarification needed</span></a></i>]</sup> is a distorted picture of reality.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-Roesdahl.2C_pp._9.E2.80.9322_0-1" style="line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viking#cite_note-Roesdahl.2C_pp._9.E2.80.9322-0" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[1]</a></sup> Non-Scandinavian Christians are responsible for most surviving accounts of the Vikings and, consequently, a strong possibility for bias exists. This attitude is likely attributed to Christian misunderstandings regarding paganism. Viking tendencies were often misreported and the work of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_of_Bremen" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Adam of Bremen">Adam of Bremen</a>, among others, told largely disputable tales of Viking savagery and uncleanliness.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-52" style="line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viking#cite_note-52" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[53]</a></sup></div>
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The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danelaw" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Danelaw">Anglo-Danes</a> were considered excessively clean by their <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anglo-Saxon" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Anglo-Saxon">Anglo-Saxon</a> neighbours, due to their custom of bathing every Saturday and combing their hair often. To this day, Saturday is referred to as <i>laugardagur</i> / <i>laurdag</i> / <i>lørdag</i> / <i>lördag</i>, "washing day" in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_Germanic_languages" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="North Germanic languages">Scandinavian languages</a>. Icelanders were known to use natural <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_spring" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Hot spring">hot springs</a> as baths, and there is a strong sauna/bathing culture in Scandinavia to this day.</div>
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As for the Vikings in the east, <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ibn_Rustah" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ibn Rustah">Ibn Rustah</a> notes their cleanliness in carrying clean clothes, whereas <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ibn_Fadlan" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Ibn Fadlan">Ibn Fadlan</a> is disgusted by all of the men sharing the same, used vessel to wash their faces and blow their noses in the morning. Ibn Fadlan's disgust is possibly because of the contrast to the<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Islamic_hygienical_jurisprudence" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Islamic hygienical jurisprudence">personal hygiene</a> particular <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medicine_in_medieval_Islam" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Medicine in medieval Islam">to the Muslim world</a> at the time, such as running water and clean vessels. While the example intended to convey his disgust about certain customs of the Rus', at the same time it recorded that they did wash every morning.</div>
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<br /></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-25032954727895144992012-04-24T21:33:00.003+02:002012-04-24T21:33:56.537+02:00A tiny blog post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLo6PnpNFRltRoY_HS1EDxe-YA2xDI4m6_JfftSEIx9RXFqH7NLF4pbtPvTjcoFR2LTU1feAPhgFFE9PKhR7dV5KyEwvVp65rbC_iFvWQVJ5cbsoir5uLStRzZeLhqRc7dkl2YpMMoiE/s1600/2012stadabadge500x230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLo6PnpNFRltRoY_HS1EDxe-YA2xDI4m6_JfftSEIx9RXFqH7NLF4pbtPvTjcoFR2LTU1feAPhgFFE9PKhR7dV5KyEwvVp65rbC_iFvWQVJ5cbsoir5uLStRzZeLhqRc7dkl2YpMMoiE/s320/2012stadabadge500x230.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Is all I have to say.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-43963047801682054882012-04-24T14:59:00.003+02:002012-04-24T15:01:42.436+02:00A-Z USAOkay so sometimes life catches up with you a bit and you don't have time to make a long blog after work. I should save this for my wikipedia blog post coming up some day, but I might as well share my little dirty secret now. I love Wiki and can spend hours just clicking on the next entry, sometimes filling up my whole browser bar with things I find interesting. Sometimes these Wiki searches can bring out the most wonderful and inspiring information. This is where the US comes in (don't worry I will stop babbling soon). I was reading an article about communism and that again lead me to BBC and a very weird news article:<br />
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<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-15931683">http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-15931683</a> </div>
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About Lana Peters aka
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-15931683" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #145e9d; cursor: pointer; font-family: Georgia, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="c">Svetlana Alliluyeva</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #0c0c0c; font-family: Georgia, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21px;">, Stalin's only daughter. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: Georgia, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 21px;">The stuff below is from </span></span>
<a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_19615_where-arenE28099t-they-now-11-overlooked-deaths-2011_p2.html?wa_user1=2&wa_user2=Weird+World&wa_user3=article&wa_user4=feature_module">http://www.cracked.com/article_19615_where-arenE28099t-they-now-11-overlooked-deaths-2011_p2.html?wa_user1=2&wa_user2=Weird+World&wa_user3=article&wa_user4=feature_module</a> <span style="color: #0c0c0c; font-family: Georgia, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-style: initial; font-style: inherit; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial;"><img height="251" src="http://i.crackedcdn.com/phpimages/article/9/2/5/106925.jpg?v=1" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" width="320" /></span></span><span style="color: #909090; display: block; font-size: xx-small; height: 5px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: right; width: 320px;">Getty</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">With her father</span></div>
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One of history's greatest monsters had a kid who not only survived into the 21st century, but was living in Wisconsin, of all places. <em>Wisconsin</em>. Can you imagine going out to your dairy farm to harvest your cheese crop and finding out your little old lady neighbor was the daughter of a man responsible for the murders of up to 20 million people? How do you even process that? Do you just drop your cheese harvest and run? Do you try to make like you don't know, but accidentally drop the phrase "Uncle Joe, Slaughterer of Millions" in everyday conversation? No one has written a guideline on the situation, so we don't know.</div>
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As for Svetlana herself, she was plagued with daddy issues from the start, as you can imagine. Her dad abused her mom, who died of a "burst appendix," which might be Soviet code for "suicide and/or murdered by Joseph Stalin." Her dad exiled her first boyfriend to the Arctic Circle, refused to meet her first husband and arranged her marriage to her second husband, which lasted 10 years.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-style: initial; font-style: inherit; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial;"><img height="320" src="http://i.crackedcdn.com/phpimages/article/9/2/9/106929_v1.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" width="213" /></span></span><span style="color: #909090; display: block; font-size: xx-small; height: 5px; margin-top: -10px; text-align: right; width: 213px;">Getty</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
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It was after marriage two dissolved that things got really interesting for Svetlana. She met and fell in love with an Indian Communist, whom she was not allowed to marry, presumably because her father's ghost was still pulling her love-life strings. Nevertheless, after her boyfriend's death she was allowed to travel to India to scatter his ashes in the Ganges. Aaaaaand pop into the U.S. embassy to apply for political asylum in America.</div>
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So in 1967, the daughter of one of the architects of Soviet communism denounced the regime and fled to the U.S. Then she met Frank Lloyd Wright's apprentice, who had once been married to Frank Lloyd Wright's daughter, also named Svetlana. So naturally Svetlana Stalin and the former son-in-law of Frank Lloyd Wright married -- and that was how Svetlana Iosifovna Alliluyeva became known as <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-15931683" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: #145e9d; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="c">Lana Peters</a>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 1.625em;">Now after reading all this I started at once to write a story in my mind about Lana fleeing the Soviet for completely different reasons. It had something to do with </span><span style="line-height: 21px;">Rasputin's</span><span style="line-height: 1.625em;"> magical </span><span style="line-height: 21px;">abilities</span><span style="line-height: 1.625em;"> being transferred to this small girl and her father being scared of her as the first and only thing he had ever feared in his life. Of course being a lazy author I never sat down and wrote it but it is still there brewing away in the back of my mind. Eventually I will get it done I am sure!</span></span></div>
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</div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-31963026622052951862012-04-23T14:44:00.001+02:002012-04-23T14:44:27.004+02:00A-Z: Two, as in chapter twoChapter two of my WIP is called The Time and Space Consortium. It is based on a dream I had about being in the Tartis and flying around with a black woman doctor. It is possibly one of the weirdest dreams I have ever had, the chapter did not come out quite as weird, it will be weirded up in the final version I think. So same warning as my last post of this size; This is an unedited version written during NaNoWrimo a month where the experts say you shouldn't edit so I didn't. Hope you enjoy it and blog on comrades!<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter 2. The Time and Space Consortium:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was pink and his head hurt. He felt like he was floating in air, but
not like he was falling. He had watched a program on Discovery about out of
body experiences and guessed that this was what it must feel like. His
dreamlike state was interrupted by a large blipping noise and his body fell
face down onto a hard surface smashing his glasses in the process. With a
blurry vision he looked on in astonishment as a pink room seemed to materialise
around him. He couldn’t quite make out the details but laying there on the
floor it seemed like the walls were covered with buttons of various sizes and
shapes. As he stretched his hands out to retrieve his glasses he noticed that
the floor he was lying on was in fact not hard, but made of some kind of
synthetic fluffy pink fibre. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Sorry about the rough ride. It is always hard the first couple of
times.” The little man had landed safely on his feet and was now checking
buttons and pulling levers that had appeared on the ceiling. He seemed oddly in
place in the pink room and Maz acknowledged that he might the one who didn’t
fit in. Not that he had ever felt like he fit in on earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Earth! Emma! What had happened to them all?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The blipping noise went away and the little man picked up the glasses
and looked them over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Very interesting...” He turned them over several times like they were
an object of great fascination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maz struggled to sit upright, but in the end he managed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Can I have them back please? I can’t really see without them.” The
little man looked at him quizzically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“They help you see? Oh dear, well that can’t do!” He pulled a device
from his pocket that looked very much like a remote control and without asking
for permission he pointed it at Maz and pressed a button. Maz felt his eyes rolling
around in their sockets and his head felt like it was turning into jelly, but
then the heat went away and he could see perfectly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Amazing! What did you do to me?” The little man shook his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“There is no time to explain the details to you, but I rearranged some
of your brain cells.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You...” Maz felt close to throwing up again and looked around for some
water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Liquid!” A tiny voice cried out. Maz looked around for anything that
could have possibly uttered those words, but there was no one here but him and
the little man. Two chairs and a table appeared. On the table, cups were
materialising and plates. Maz groaned as he got up, but managed to stumble all
the way to the table and sit down to...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Toast and tea?” The little man nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“A little bird told me that this is the most common thing to serve in
the early hours of the days where you come from.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“A little bird?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Yes he is a parakeet actually, if you want specifics.” Maz started to
eat his toast. The little man sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“See, a long time ago the Intergalactic council for Humanoids decided
that it would be far better for us if our better judgement lived outside of us.
That way it would always be independent. So I have Parakeet Pete who lives in
my hat. Actually earth was scheduled for something similar, but then wars broke
out and you were kind of forgotten. Guess it comes with being one of the outer
rim planets, never quite got around to it I’m afraid.“ Something inside the man’s hat chirped and he
nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Actually he would like to know why you earth-dwellers insist on
stuffing birds in cages.” The bird chirped again and Maz shrugged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Alright all animals then, jeeps Louise you are asking a lot of a
humanoid with such limited brain-function. No offense,” he looked at Maz’s head
and Maz felt an eerie cold hand squeezing his brain, “you are remarkable
fascinating creatures to study but it always puzzles me that you manage to get
through your pitiful short lives with the little use you have of your brain.
Does it make you happier to live such short lives because you are in fact the
humanoid equivalent of a very stupid space-monkey drone whose only function is
to sit around and wait for the signal to press the big banana shaped button
that will destroy a planet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Wait, space-monkeys are blowing up planets? What kind of a sick joke is
this?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Joke, no joke I can assure you. They tried every other shape but the
banana was the only thing that would keep them occupied.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB"> Maz nodded like he had understood
it all, but it was all rather baffling to him and he was pretty sure that even
though the toast was excellent this was all just an evil nightmare and he would
soon wake up on a bench still hung over. The little man sniffed the tea and
wrinkled his nose. He pulled out a pot of Bovril and poured some hot water in a
cup. He noticed that Maz was staring at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I have quite acquired a taste for it when I was down there. And Marmite,
but my studies tell me that you either hate it or love it. And judging from
your facial expression,” Maz had made a face of utter disgust at the thought of
the hideous spread, “you are one of the haters. More for me I guess!” Maz took
another bite of his Marmite free toast and sipped his tea as if he was trying
to maintain the sweet memory of it for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Anyway, enough with the chitchat. Time for formal introductions Mr.
Anderson! I am Professor, Darwin Willard, Chief Inspector specialized in
Humanoid Intergalactic Space Travels, for the Time and Space Consortium. We are
kind of the janitors of time, we fix things when they break and maintain the
universe as it is written out in the great time-line.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maz swallowed the last piece of toast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I am Maz Aldrich, uhm... I work at ASDA. And right now I am rather
confused to why you kidnapped me of all people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The Professor opened up his orange book and it blipped back at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“To tell you that I would have to kill you Mr. Aldrich.” The little man
laughed but Maz did not find it very amusing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“No I am serious. I would have to kill you. You see everything is mapped
out according to Time and Space liminality and a whole lot of other things and
we Professors only know our little part of the whole operation. Imagine if you
will that we are one puzzle piece out of a billion set puzzle. Does that make
you feel better?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Not really.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Good! I suppose you are eager to start work as soon as possible?”
Willard got up and headed for a panel of buttons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Hold on, you haven’t actually told me what it is, you suppose I will be
doing for you. I take it that you are not wanting me to fill up the tinned
goods aisle?” Professor Willard spun around, looking quite amused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Oh it’s elemental Mr Aldrich. I have received permission to send a hero
through time and space to put together a team that can save earth from being
eradicated. You are the hero, I provide the travel opportunities.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“And how will I know who I am supposed to bring back with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Oh you will know. Trust me, it is quite intuitive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“And what if I can’t find the right person?” The Professor looked
puzzled, as if this was not a possibility in his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Failure is not an option Mr. Aldrich. If you do not retrieve the person
you are sent there to fetch there will be no getting back to this ship.” Maz
felt his stomach turn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“So... what you are saying is that I will get stuck in God knows where
if I can’t find a random person to bring with me back?” The Professor was in
the process of plugging him into a machine by placing electrodes on his arms
and face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Nothing is random Mr. Aldrich, it is all pre-destined. The people you
are saving will not be missed, they should not be missed. You are not to
interfere with the time-line, only to remove those who do not fit in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“And what happens...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Failure is not an option! You have three days to return to place of
descent and then the portal will close. Do not be late. Time travel is
expensive and I do not want to send someone down to pick you up.” The machine
started blinking and pulsing, Maz felt himself go rigid with anticipation of
the time travel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Where will you send me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Oh past, present, future. Just bring me some good warriors where ever
you end up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Oh one more thing.” The Professor handed him a bag and Maz willed
himself not to rip the wires off and get as far away as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Good luck!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maz felt the ground disappear from underneath his feet again and then he
was blinded by a great orange light. When he woke up it was dark and something
was moving next to him. Something big!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-GB"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-50753317077696217672012-04-22T13:36:00.001+02:002012-04-22T13:36:55.297+02:00A short blog-postTo say that I have signed up for <a href="https://www.coursera.org/course/fantasysf">https://www.coursera.org/course/fantasysf</a> which is an online course through the University of Michigan. I have read plenty of articles by this guy during my years at Uni and he is a brilliant scientist. They offer a vary of courses in many different subjects, they are free and you are able to follow them when you have time. Take a look, there might be something for you as well.Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-40308255283947863302012-04-21T09:46:00.001+02:002012-04-21T09:46:36.220+02:00A-Z: Sci-fyWow three blogs in three days, that must be a record for me. Thanks to Mr Mark K I might actually dive into this whole blog universe thing again for good. So today for my A-Z I have chosen to share, for the first time I might add, the first chapter of my other WIP which is currently stuck on 60k pages and has been so pretty much since NaNoWriMo where it was first conceived. I would like to add that there might grammatical errors or spelling mistakes in what I am sharing with you as it has not yet been through first edit. Maybe it will give you an insight into some of my actual work that is not in short-story form, I might lose some readers and gain some but here goes.<br />
I think what little introduction I need to give is the following: It is a sci-fy story set around our time. The overall theme of the book can probably best be described as Hitchhiker's Guide meets Dr.Who with a decent sprinkling of something very New Weird. The whole idea came to me as I was walking home from a party in the middle of the night, fog was concealing everything but the road in front of me and in my dream-like state I heard fireworks so off in the distant. This was at 4 am I would like to add, on a Wednesday (It was summer vacation so don't judge) in the outskirts of Copenhagen. All I could see was the distorted colors of the fireworks going off in the distance that seemed to linger on in the fog and that was when fireworks went off in my head. What if we really are not alone in the universe? And can you assume that just because there might be alien races out there that they are necessarily more intelligent than us? And most importantly, what color does interstellar travel really have? I present to you the preliminary first chapter of The Day they Descended:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<b><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter 1. Maz:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Who
can really say how it began? Was it hidden in the signs of deterioration of the
earth or in the nature of human beings? If we could have predicted how much we
had been wrong about the universe, would we ever have dreamt of venturing into
it? But this story is not about the beginnings of space travel, nor is it meant
as a discussion about the rights and wrongs about the ideas we had back then.
It is simply a story of a man, a girl and a number of other people that seem
less important than these two, but will provide good fillers, who would shape
the destiny of the planet earth and its decedents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">To
tell the story, we must start at the beginning; we must go before the human
race became an endangered species and before the people of this story even knew
what their faith would be. This story starts with a man named Maz Aldrich.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maz Aldrich
was overall an unhappy sort of man. He was middle aged, divorced, lived alone
with his cat and his goldfish in a small apartment, in a largish city in
England. His involvement in our story begins a Friday night at around 2 am. Maz
had been to a party, a high school reunion to be precise and having been faced
with a large number of successful people, whom he had formally been at school
with, he had early on in the evening decided that the only way to get through
it, would be to get dead drunk. So he did. No one recognized him anyway and the
alcohol was free after all. Maz had always thought that the best form of
alcohol, or anything else for that matter, was the free sort. When the party
had ended he had staggered on to the nearest pub, well technically he had
tagged along with a larger group of former class mates and now CEOs, directors
and otherwise successful business men. The alcohol here had also been free or
rather someone had shouted down to him as he rested on the floor having a hard
time keeping his balance on the bar chair, if he wanted a drink. He had nodded
and beer had been offered. The others seemed to make a game out of sitting on
the floor, so here he was chatting up some blonde rather sassy lady who kept
calling him Dickie, when suddenly out of the blue a man dressed in a most
peculiar outfit showed up. It was not close to Halloween or Bonfire night and
yet this man seemed to be wearing a form of costume only seen in sci-fi movies.
His suit looked like sort of a mixture between a jester and a dentist. It was
brightly coloured and small bells rang when he walked. He was wearing a bowler
hat which really stood out from the rest of his costume. But this was not the
weirdest thing about him. His hair was carrot coloured with all kinds of things
woven into it and his eyes were an eerie shade of purple. He didn't seem to blink
and Maz found his eyes watering by just looking at him. What was this little
odd creature doing here? Maz found that he was not the only one looking at the
man, if it indeed was a man. He seemed to be young for a man, but old for a boy,
yet he had no beard or signs of stubble. The man smiled a white smile and
seemed oblivious to the fact that almost every person in the room had now
seized their talking and just stood around starring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Hello
everyone," the man said,” I am looking for a hero!" The silence was
intense and Maz had a strange feeling of being in a dream or just being more
drunk that he had ever been. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"No
heroes?" The man smiled even more. A few people around him backed away and
shook their heads in disbelief. But still no one answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"I
am almost certain that the person I am looking for is supposed to be in this
room," he said. Apparently he didn't notice that no one was answering him,
so he continued in the same tone: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"I
will be quite miffed to have come all this way and not find him, I tell you.
Time travel is not only unpleasant for the traveller, but also for the
government funds!" Maz caught himself thinking about the kind of
government this little man was referring to and his drunken conclusion was,
that the man must have escaped from some sort of mental institution where he
believed himself to be from another time. Yes this must be the most plausible
explanation. Maz took a big sip of his drink. Maybe that would restore
normality for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The
man removed his hat and scratched his orange head of hair. He pulled out a pink
clipboard and a fuzzy pen that you would normally associate with teenage girls
writing in diaries. Maz was sure he saw some sort of small animal crawling
around on the man’s head, but tried not to make an outcry. These people might
be dangerous after all, he reminded himself. He snickered a bit at the thought
of a country, where everyone was dressed like the little man with small animals
running wild in their hair. Strangely enough he imagined that these small creatures
in some way or another controlled their humans. He touched his own hair, just
to make sure that nothing was living there at least, then he looked at his feet
and the floor moving. When he raised his head again, the little man was
starring right at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Umhm,"
he said and walked straight over to Maz. Maz slided as close to the bar as he
could and attempted to hide behind an empty barstool just out of precaution,
but too late, the man had set his eerie stare directly on him. Around him
people started talking again and soon the music was back on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"You
sir, might just be the one I am looking for." Maz laughed hoarsely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"You...
you think I am this hero you are looking for? Puddle worms, I have never heard
such a stupid thing in my life!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Of
course this is what Maz wanted to say, but drunk as he was half of the words
came out as gibberish instead. Funnily enough the little man seemed to
understand this gibberish. He looked Maz over and smiled wide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Oh
heroes come in many shapes and forms, as you will soon find out. No doubt you
are in for a surprise in that sense."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Undoubtedly"
Maz answered, "what, you really think you can con me into this make belief
world of yours? Is this candid camera or something?" Maz began looking
around after the cameras, but people around him already seemed oblivious to his
existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"It
is quite urgent that I bring you up to date with the situation friend. In only
an hour or so, things will get really serious. Like mindboggling serious and if
you are to save the earth and the universe as we know it, we must act
quickly." </span>Maz stared at him, then he said: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Will
you excuse me for a moment?" The man nodded slowly, but Maz got the
impression that he didn't really understand the meaning of a moment. Maz could
feel his stomach turning and at that moment he thought of nothing else, but to
get outside and go home. Sod these people he barely knew and who didn't give a
horses behind if he was there or not, this evening had not turned out quite as
he had hoped. He waved goodbye to the sassy blonde, who was already in deep
conversation with some other guy and took his jacket from the hanger by the
door. He looked around, just to make sure that the man wasn't following him,
but he seemed content with standing there and waiting for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The
air was crisp and cool, but Maz didn't mind. The walk home might clear his mind
and give him some sense of the madness he had witnessed tonight. He had walked
only a few minutes, when he felt someone approaching fast from behind. He
looked over his shoulder and saw to his amazement, the little man speeding
towards him. Around him everything was quiet, the lights from all the apartment
buildings were out and on his left side, the field where the circus and the
giant flee marked would set up their tents, was dark and deserted. In the
distance he could sense the lights from the big city, but he couldn't focus on
them. At that moment, when he heard those footsteps drawing nearer, he realised
that he was all alone, and no one would hear him scream if the little man decided
to get violent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Please,
Mister Anderson, you have to listen to me!" The little man had finally
caught up with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"How
do you know my name?" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"It
says so on your nametag." He pointed at the plastic nametag, which Maz had
forgotten to take off when he left the party. Maz sighed; he had never been one
for confrontations and hardly had it in his heart to tell the little man that
his name was in fact Aldrich, but someone had stuck this to his chest earlier
in the evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Look,
I don't know what you think you are getting out of me..."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"I
have already told you Mister Anderson."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Please
call me Maz... Mr. Anderson is from some movie." He struggled to remember
what movie it was from, but he highly doubted that this man lived in this world
enough to know it even if he did remember the title. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Alright
Mr Maz, I have already told you in brief what you are needed for. I need a hero
to help me save the earth, humankind and the universe as we know it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maz
was about to answer when he heard loud cracking noises, that sounded like
fireworks. But nothing showed up on the sky. The little man started fiddling
with something in his belt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Oh
noes, they are here already!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"What,
who... what?" Maz stared into the black sky, that hang over them and then
he saw them. Slowly but surely, lights the shape of a projector came closer and
closer. Maz stared in disbelief. He had seen fancy hotels and clubs drawing
attention by doing this, but those always came with a stripe of light and these
seemed to originate from the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"What
are those things?" The man sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"I
am not sure you would believe me, if I told you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Try
me..." Maz kept staring at the sky, as the lights came closer and closer
and grew in size. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Well
they are ships from a fleet of humanoids that inhabit a planet not too
different from yours, only bigger. They have come to colonize the earth as
their own planet was running out of resources. So far as I understand, they
thought the earth looked green and cosy and well humankind are not the
brightest light bulbs in the galactic universe, so it seemed an easy target.
Are you with me so far?" Maz nodded sagely. This was all a dream, in a
moment he would awake with a terrible headache and a bad taste in his mouth
from all the cheese doodles he had eaten at the party. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"There
is only one problem though." Maz stared at the man in disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Oh
right, only one problem... Hmm I wonder what that could be. Maybe the fact that
there is a freaking alien invasion happening and no one saw it coming?" The
man shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"No,
no. That is the least of our problems. You see, the problem with the ships are,
that they are too large to land and hanging over the earth like this, they will
block out the sun and moon and possibly a lot of rain. The earth will die you
see and with it, all human kind. That is why I came looking for you!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">A
loud clanging sound emerged from the ship hanging above them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Hear
that? That’s the ships making ready for phase one, scaring the human beings
into giving them their planet."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"And
how to they plan on doing that?" Maz had to shout to make himself heard.
The little man screamed back at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Oh
that’s the easy part, they will annihilate around two thirds of the human
population. Just to set the standard." Maz was suddenly aware that his
mouth was open and he at that moment much resembled his goldfish. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"We
have to go! Grab a hold of this." The man held out a strange orange book
that had no markings on the cover, but seemed to be alive in some way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-GB">"Put
your hand on the book... This might sting a bit!" Maz slowly put his hand
on the book. Had he only stayed at home this evening, this would have never
happened. He would have been at home with his nice TV, a microwave pizza and
the picture of his daughter Emma would have been staring down at him, making
him feel guilty about not calling her more often or taking the time to listen
to her teenage problems. This was his last thought before the world around him
started contracting and swirling and everything went bright pink. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-79417818179438632262012-04-20T19:09:00.002+02:002012-04-20T19:09:46.147+02:00A-Z: A late comer.So, sometimes life throws you an unexpected batch of lemons and you make a wonderful bucket load of the most fantastic lemonade that you could ever imagine and you can never replicate in your lifetime. This week has been a roller-coaster of ups and downs for me.<br />
<br />
Firstly I discovered the wonders of Drawsome, a highly addictive game that sucks all the power out of my phone but hey who cares right? It is free and it allows me to reconnect with some of the people that I don't talk to often enough in my daily life. Then I got sick... I usually get a cold maybe once a year and live through a small amount of sniffles, but this time I got the mother load of all evil deceases that has had be bedridden for almost a week now. My whole body aches and there is nothing to be done about it. I even did something very unusual for me and stayed home from work, it was really that painful. So I thought, maybe now that I am home I could get some work done on my WIP so I can meet the subscription deadline that is lurking in a not too distant future. Well guess again! I managed to finish up a background story for an online roleplaying character and post it, much joy was had by all who read it and now they want more (there is always a catch right?)<br />
<br />
So not having gotten anything done all week and feeling as socially acceptable as Jaime Lannister in his Stark imprisonment I was going to just forget all about this week. But then something miraculous happened! I don't mean in a walking on water or feeding a whole village with one fish, but a completely new way to view my creativity. I have lovely friends as I can honestly state over and over again, one of these friends I had not heard from in a while when she sent me a facebook message of much joy. She had a friend, who had once been an acquaintance of mine, and who she was sure would turn out to be a great friend for me as well. We share the same interests him and I, are pretty much engrossed in the same field and presto a whole new world of inspiration and inspirational people opened up! So thank you Hana for giving me this wonderful gift <3<br />
<br />
Now my new friend and his friends and their friends are all doing something called the A-Z challenge which is basically making a blog post about something starting with different letter every day going in alphabetical order. They are doing one blog every day of April (except Sundays where the lord says we must rest, or something like that) and they are therefore on day 20 which is R. Although I have no change of catching up I might as well start from today and follow their course the rest of april. So here is my post about R. (For those people who just wanted to read my A-Z I am sorry you had to read the rant before getting to this point)<br />
<br />
My R stands for Rowling, as in J.K Rowling. If you don't know who she is I am not sure I want to know you anymore ;) Just kidding of course. I am not sure what I think about her launch of an adult fiction book and how it will pan out for her. Obviously most people know her from Harry Potter and although it is always hard to satisfy the readers of a series, imagine the pressure that is on her now to perform and meet her own standards of writing. Lets face it, she could write the most wonderful book in the world and people would still always compare it to HP.<br />
But enough about the void she will have to fill with her new book. This week I did something amazingly silly and joined Pottermore.com because everyone else was doing it and I am the kind of person to follow online trends blindly. (I am StormKnight15522 if anyone feels the need to add me) I grew up with the HP books and was both looking forward to Pottermore but also a bit ambiguous. Would it live up to my expectations, would I learn anything new? Well first of all I wasn't disappointed other than with the way the sorting hat worked and it is not just because I am Hufflepuff which is not so bad as I am quite fond of food and goodhearted people but it seemed so random and not very well designed. The rest of the first book is really good, the design is good, the flow is good. Overall if people like the universe I would say try it out, what's the harm?Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958967685308750028.post-88624884325414594492012-04-19T19:34:00.000+02:002012-04-19T19:34:04.300+02:00Oiga's story.This is a back-ground I wrote for a goblin shaman that I play online in World of Warcraft. She is a fun kind of character that people generally like because she has a lot of energy and I wanted to play with the idea of there behind something more sinister behind her smile.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The sun was only just rising over the top of the jungle as a lonely figure approached the small house in the clearing. The hooded rider got off her mount and patted it absentmindedly. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“If everything goes to plan girl, we will soon be gone from this place forever.” Oiga felt sweat running down her back despite the air being chilly. She leaned against her trusty bear for a moment while she contemplated what she was about to do. Just treat it like any other spirit calling at a deathbed, just think of the others you have helped pass over and it will all be fine. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Quietly she slipped inside the house, carefully treading over toys and various objects scattered around the corridor. A stench of sick reached her nose as she entered the living space which was now occupied primarily by a large bed. She moved across the floor, carefully avoiding the floorboards that she knew from experience would creak and moan under her weight. She couldn’t count how many times she had snuck through this room and out into freedom from the very man who stirred in the bed. She paused, holding her breath and praying that he was not awake. This would all be so much easier if she didn’t have to talk to him. A feeble snoring indicated that the man had once again fallen asleep. She silently exhaled and left the room, not yet having the slightest intention of letting her presence known. Back in the hallway she picked up her luggage and made for the kitchen where she knew her mother would be waiting. The hallway was dominated by a large painting of her father surrounded by the wonderful trio as she had dubbed her three brothers. As always she was not present in the picture and neither was her mother, the women of the family were not worth mentioning as her brother had often said. Her father had expected to receive another boy, four in a row would be a good number, but it had taken too long for her mother to be with child again and in the end it was an Oiga and not an Oigan that was born into the candy imporium. From that day on it had been a fierce competition to win her father’s affections, but she had always lost. There was no room for girls in his world and especially not one that was more interested in beating up other kids or playing foot bomb instead of learning how to keep house. She drew herself away from the painting and continued to the kitchen where the smell of sick was finally replaced with a lovely smell of coffee and freshly baked bread. As long as she could remember the kitchen had been her safe place. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Minea Lupo looked up as her daughter entered the kitchen and quickly dabbed the tears away from under her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Oh my little girl, you are finally home.” Oiga nodded and sat down, not quite sure how to react to this warm greeting. Her mother placed a giant mug of steaming liquid and a plate in front of her, before she disappeared to the pantry and brought back some cold ham and fruit. Oiga noticed that there was no offering of jam or chocolate spread made to her. It seemed like the message had finally gotten through to her mother! Having been raised in a family of candy makers and seen firsthand what sugar could do to a goblin who didn’t exercise, Oiga had always declined to test any of her father’s products. Maybe another reason why they had drifted apart? Her mother sat down next to her and helped herself to some bread with butter. Oiga found herself pondering what it must be like to have given up your whole life for another person. What did her mother have to show for it really, an exiled daughter and sons who thought themselves more important than they really were. She knew her mother had wished for a daughter she could train in the art of housework, someone who she could share gossip about the latest fashion with and instead she had been given a daughter who didn’t even have the ability to mend her only dress. Almost on key her mother’s eyes fell on the hole in the sleeve, the grease spots on the hem and what looked to be dirty handprints of oil, worry spreading on her face. Oiga had done her best to wash out the blood and grit, but she knew her mother saw right through her attempt. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“You can have some of my old ones. They are getting too clingy for me anyway.” Oiga forced a smile and thanked her mother in short gruff words. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“So tell me how your new deployment is, any new friends?” Oiga smiled and held back a chuckle. She doubted that her mother would want to hear about her new “friends” anyway, better to stick to the safe things. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“I have been made treasurer I think, it is kind of hard to figure out exactly what is in my job description these days.” She thought of Lady Alyx and the horror on her face as Oiga had presented the contents of the vault for her. It was nice feeling like she mattered for once. Her skills with an axe could always be discussed but her ability with numbers was something no one could take away from her. She owed her father at least a bit of gratitude on that account although she had received most of her knowledge through spying on meetings, “borrowing” his books at night and changing the numbers slightly to erase his mistakes and listening in on her brother’s teachings. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“I am making progress I would say, I think I might be able to turn the situation around and keep them from losing their home at least. Even if some might not welcome the changes as easily as I had hoped.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“That sounds exciting deary. Now how about friends, do you get out much?” Oiga was glad of the red light of the sunrise escaping through the window behind her and how it hid her blushing. Who could she tell her mother about that would be safe? Myloh, her fellow goblin that had made her wonderful gadgets and always had a smile ready for her, but also had been the main reason that her dress was in a terrible shape after failed experiments and contraptions blowing up around them. Could she tell her mother about Kerelan who had trusted her with an important job when no one else would have her or Vrek… No her mother should definitely not be told about Vrek. She felt the usual pang of worry that she had still not heard from him. So far as the old saying went that a girl always found a love that resembled her father, Vrek would be the perfect match for her. He was as pig-headed, insensitive and cold-hearted as her father and yet… No she would not allow herself to think in those lines again. Instead she turned her gaze to the cupboard behind her mother’s head that she had not studied the contents of for years. This was where her father would proudly display any medals or other tokens of achievements that her brothers brought home. Her mother followed her gaze and sorrow filled her eyes. A noise in the hallway indicated the presence of another family member. The door opened slowly to reveal her youngest brother. She sighed and took a large bite of her bread while she watched the exchange of hugs that did not involve her. If Jonah was here it meant that the others were right behind. Of her three brothers Jonah had always been the one to take care of her. Being the youngest boy he had suffered partly in the same way as she had, always struggling to be accepted into the family. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Hi Kiddo.” She shot him a vague smile that didn’t reach her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Mika and Fritz on their way?” A glance was exchanged between mother and son, a look she had so often shared with her brother. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Why are they not coming?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“They couldn’t leave the business in times like these.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“You mean they are cowards...” Her voice was rising and she bit her lip to not wake her father. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Oiga…” Her mother’s protest trailed off. Probably because she knows I am right, Oiga thought bitterly. They had always received all her father’s affections and yet on his deathbed she was the one who was here to say goodbye. The warmth she had felt entering her body by sitting here in her mother’s kitchen and thinking of the people who mattered to her, escaped her now and she involuntarily shook. Her brother rested a hand on her shoulder and for once she didn’t shrug it off. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Why did it have to be me? There are plenty of more qualified shamans you could have hired.” Her question went unanswered for a while. Her mother stood up and cleared away the dishes, while her brother sat down next to her and started picking a left-over chunk of bread to pieces. Suddenly her mother spun around, dishcloth still in hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“He has been asking for you ever since he was forced to stay in bed. He would hear talk of no one else performing the rituals for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“But why…” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“People on their deathbed ask strange things Oiga,” this time it was her brother interrupting her. “He must have his reasons to want to say goodbye to you.” Oiga nodded but a bitter taste entered her mouth as she thought about her father’s reasoning for not wanting to see her all those years. She had not been invited to come back after she had nearly run away to Orgrimmar to have a change of scenery. When she had joined a military company he had even stopped sending her his weekly angry letter asking her to reconsider her life, telling about the various suitors he had lined up for her should she chose to live a normal goblinette life, get married, have children, make the family proud by adding more members to it. After a couple of months he had sent her an ultimatum Give up your rebel ideas and come home, last chance, after this you will never hear from me again nor will any other member of our family have permission to contact you. She had not caved in, she wanted her freedom more. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The medic had entered the room without Oiga noticing. He nodded to her to indicate that it was time. Everything happened in a blur from that moment on. Her mother pulled her out of the room and into her old bedroom which now served as a general closet space for the rest of the family. She helped Oiga out of her dress and pulled another one down over her head. It smelt of lavender, her mother’s favorite herb and she sniffed in the sweet scent as her mother combed down her hair and braided in the holy symbols that their family had always worn at times when a family member was about to pass over to the other side. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">When they entered the living space again, the windows had been opened to let in some fresh air and to allow for her father’s spirit to leave freely when that time came. Her instruments had been brought in and placed on a table close to the bed. She stared at them for a moment, as if they were strange objects that she could find no use for, but then instinct took over and she started the ritual, saying ancient prayers that had been passed down to her from her master and someday would be passed on to her student if she ever got one. No one cried or made any noise as she finished the preparations for the soul to leave the body peacefully. </span><span lang="EN-GB">They</span><span lang="EN-US"> merely looked at her like she had materialized into some weird being in front of her. Her master had always said that you should never perform these rituals for family members because emotions and memories could cloud the sacred bond between body and soul, possibly even forcing the soul to stay in the body after the person had been cremated. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">She had gotten to the part were the loved ones usually participated and just as expected she heard her brother’s deep voice joining in with the chanting. Her mother remained silent while she held her husband’s hand. She looked so small and lost that Oiga felt a great temptation to stop the ritual and just hug her mother until the pain went away, but she stood strong and did her duty. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Silence filled the room, only briefly interrupted by the hackling breathing from the bed. Now they only had to wait until he actually died before they could perform the rest of the ritual. She made to leave the room but should have known that she wouldn’t get away that easily. A wheezy voice drifted out towards her and she stopped. The once so commanding voice now had an air of desperate want. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">”Come closer daughter.” She sighed and bit back her anger as she moved closer to her father’s bed, not quite sure what she would see. She withheld a sound of shock, her mother had been right, there was not much left of the once so forceful goblin that had refused to give up a trade long deemed unnecessary and unhealthy. His skin was pale and the flesh was sunken in. His good eye was fixed on her as he extended his hand. She remembered her mother’s words and carefully took the hand while sitting down next to him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“How beautiful you have become daughter, just like your mother. I always knew you would get far.” She nodded, not wanting to argue with him at his last moments in this world. She recognized how the light was leaving his eyes fast, not long now. Her voice was slightly shaky as she asked him the words she had asked so many times before.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Have you prepared your soul to join the spirit world?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The funeral pire was only cinders when her oldest brother finally showed up. She could sense he was angry, but not wanting to start an argument with him she crept back into the house and found that her bags had already been packed. She noticed that not even her bag had been safe from her mother’s tears and the surface was damp. Oiga had not shed a tear for the man that had brought her so much pain; she would not give his soul that satisfaction. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">As she mounted her bear she looked back at the courtyard behind her. Tables were being placed and food was pouring in from well-wishing neighbors. She knew that once the pyre was burned down there would be a big party to honour her father’s memory, but she would be far away by then not wanting to spend an evening and morning listening to people praising him. As she caught her mother’s gaze resting on her she nodded as if they were </span><span lang="EN-GB">signing</span><span lang="EN-US"> a mutual agreement about how things would be from now on. Then she rode away from her childhood home, not looking back once. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">She headed for the vault as soon as she reached home, not exchanging more than the formal greetings with the people she met on the way. Their faces all melted together for her and her head spun. Kerelan requested a meeting but she brushed him off, longing for the peace and quiet of the vault. She knew that some of them might have worried about her and where she had disappeared to, but right now she was not ready to share. As the heavy door closed behind her she drew in a sigh of relief, this was her home despite the cobwebs, vault spiders and piles of unsorted heirlooms that the A’lorai had left her in charge of. She smiled at her make-up bed on some kegs of ale that she had constructed with the help of Myloh shortly after she had been given the position. She started unpacking her bag, placing ritual gear and the dresses her mother had gifted her in two different piles. On the bottom of her pack she found a box with her name on it. She shivered slightly when she recognized her father’s handwriting. She had heard of people speaking to their relatives from beyond the grave but she highly doubted that they were able to place items in front of her. Part of her wanted to just discard it with the rest of the useless junk she had found in the vault but curiosity got the better of her. Sitting on her bed she opened the box with shaking hands and almost dropped it when her own face stared back at her. On top of a stack of paper was a crumbled hand-drawn picture of her in full armor that she had never seen before. She went on to the next item; a transcript of how she was faring in her first ever military unit signed by the General and addressed to her father, another note from a teacher informing her father of his daughters excellent performance in his class. On the bottom of the box rattling around was the first medal she had ever won as a foot bomber and that her father had taken away from her in anger while he had assured her that no daughter of his would become a foot bomb player. From the box she procured various artifacts of her childhood that she had thought lost. An unfamiliar feeling crept up on her as she sat in a vault full of precious things and held in her hands a box of memories of the one person she had thought wanted nothing to do with her, a feeling of finally gaining the love from the man she had tried her whole life to make proud. She felt tears falling that she had denied herself earlier as she whispered to the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">“Be in peace papa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>Cassandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06915800426915176227noreply@blogger.com3