willtheweaver

[willtheweaver]

Writing share tag

TY for the tag @space-writes @gioiaalbanoart

From Snow on the Pines:

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There it was again. Fen felt a chill down his spine. It was a buzz like a million bees, amplified and mixed with the sound of saw trying to cut through a metal bar.

Fen gazed at the sky. Sure enough, part of the sky was darkened by the swarm. It took him a moment to realize they were flying from southwest.

“Playa!”

Fen ran.

Why did I leave her alone? He thought. If anything happened, I will never forgive myself.

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NP tag @sunflowerrosy @indecentpause @vesanal @mk-writes-stuff @fantasy-things-and-such

@moltenwrites @the-letterbox-archives @thecomfywriter @oliolioxenfreewrites @lavender-gloom and open tag

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 22

Happy first day of winter!

Today’s prompts: A snowfall, She shouldered the weight of the chorus, her voice lifting through the chapel until the song grew its own wings and took flight

Sarah had gotten lost. Dusk came early, and was made earlier by clouds that soon started to drop snow. It was tough going, as the footpaths were soon covered, and the signposts were obscured. It was dark when she had found her way to the location.

The chapel was keyhole shaped, with a tall bell tower in front, a round nave, and elongated apse. The stonework was of high quality, but otherwise bereft of decoration. From the many narrow windows came light. Sarah placed her hand on the door. It swung open. Inside, the richly carved columns and frescos contrasted greatly with the austere exterior. The seats were arranged in a circular fashion so that they all faced the center of the church. Many candles provided light as well as warming the building.

The choir and accompanying musicians were setting up when they noticed Sarah.

“Ah! You made it!” One of the choirs members said. “Sorry about putting this on you. And on such short notice too. It’s just that our usual soloist got sick and couldn’t perform.” He added apologetically.

“No worries. I’m always glad to help out.”

Soon everything was set up. The choir members took their seats, and the instrument were all tuned. The doors swung open again and the seats gradually filled. By the time the music started, there was not a single empty seat left.

Sarah knew the songs by heart. Whatever feelings of nervousness she had, she channeled them into her voice, weaving a melody that enthralled all who listened. And it wasn’t just songs in English. There were tunes in Cornish, Welsh, Breton, Gaelic and Manx that echoed around the room before finding their way out through the windows and into the falling snow. On the winter air, it seemed to carry for miles.

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[willtheweaver]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag @space-writes

My words are: never, perhaps, despite, doubt

Never: (from A Feather in the Forest) “I’ve never been good at spearing fish.” Playa told him [Fen]. “Deer or muskrats, I could hit, but fish and mudpuppies always seem to give me trouble.”

Perhaps: (from A Feather in the Forest) “Perhaps I was hasty in judging you.” His [Captain Hesper] voice, while still firm, had a modicum of forgiveness and respect mixed in.

Despite: (from Snow on the Pines) Despite the risks involved in the plan, Fen and Playa were committed.

Doubt(ed): (from Snow on the Pines) “At first I doubted you. But time and again you showed your loyalty. I began to question the path I was taking.”

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@sunflowerrosy @seastarblue @whatwewrotepodcast @paeliae-occasionally @thecomfywriter

@thelovelymachinery @vesanal @abiteofhoney and open tag

Your words are: Look, listen, control, support

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 21

Wow, can’t believe we’re almost at the end! Hope everyone is enjoying this! And thanks for the tag @fantasy-things-and-such @theeccentricraven @corinneglass

Today’s prompt: A showdown, “when will you finally understand?”

Just before noon on the dusty streets. The two gunslingers stood ten yards from each other. From every doorway and window, the people watched with anticipation.

“Last chance to save your life.” Lance’s voice was steady and betrayed no emotion.

“Ain’t runnin’ from this. And I ain’t runnin’ from any foreigner, badge or no badge.” Daryl grinned, his right hand flexed.

“When will you finally understand?” Lance raised his voice slightly. “You cannot win this. Surrender and you may escape the noose. But if you go for your gun, you will not live to see sunset.”

“We’ll see.” These were not empty words. Unlike many who spent their nights shouting alcohol-fueled boasts and brags in the saloons, Daryl could actually back up what he said. Lance would be the fifth lawman who would tango with the troublemaking ruffian.

The noon bell chimed. Both men reached for their guns. Daryl proved faster on the draw. His shot hit Lance straight in the chest. The lawman stumbled, staggered, and then stood straight up.

“What in tarnations—”

“I told you.” Lance raised his gun. Aimed. And shot. “You cannot beat me.”

Daryl took a step back. The gun fell from his hand which then brushed the hole in his stomach. The blood that trickled out was warm. He let out a gasp before falling to the ground.

“Someone get an undertaker to clean up this mess. But first telegraph the Marshalls and tell them this town will be trouble free for the foreseeable future.”

Nervous citizens nodded. Some rushed off to the funeral parlor. Others rushed to the train station, as the town telegraph was there. The rest retreated into the buildings. Lance stepped forward. He knelt down. Daryl was still breathing, but it was clear that his end was near.

“Let me tell you this now.” The lawman told his dying opponent. “No gun is more powerful than the curse that rests upon my head. Thirteen hundred years I’ve carried it. And I will carry it until it is decided that I have atoned.

“You want to know who made me a man who cannot die? I did. I betrayed my oath and my king. I brought about the fall of a nation. And so I bound myself with chains forged in the fiery pits of Hell. Shoot me, drown me, infect me with every disease known to man, or feed me to the lions; I will feel the pain, but I will not die. I want you to know that, so when you go to face judgement, you will tell them that the one who sent you was Lancelot Du Lac, the fallen knight.”

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[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 20

Two-O! Thanks for the tag @corinneglass @theeccentricraven @fantasy-things-and-such and as always, shoutout to @agirlandherquill for the event

Today’s prompts: A pub, the ache of a smile

Colin made the rounds, setting up chairs and stools, tapping the fresh kegs, checking in on the kitchen staff, and sweeping away all the dust that had gathered the previous night. This was as a routine he had done for the last four decades. Now this would be the last time he would be the publican of the Black Mare. Rent had risen to beyond what he could earn, and age had taken its toll on his body. Closing was inevitable, and as Colin was the type who wanted to end things on his own terms, he put the closing date of the pub on the village notice board one day. He was not optimistic about having a huge turnout; many of the houses were owned by Londoners who had gone back to the city for the winter, and the younger crowd went out of town for drinks.

Half four. Everyone had finished their tea and were making final preparations. Glasses were stacked, the tables and bar were wiped down, darts and beer mats were in their proper places.

For the first half hour, all was quiet. There was little for anyone to do. Thirty minutes turned into sixty. Then the bell above the door rang. Colin felt his jaw drop. It was not only the regulars, but practically everyone in the village, along with their friends and acquaintances had turned up.

“Saw your message on the board there.” One of them said. “So we decided to spread the word and make the last night one to remember.”

And so it was. Ruckus conversations filled every last corner of the place as memories of old times were recounted . A table was cleared for several people who had brought their instruments. It was hard to move around, as there weren’t enough seats for all, but everyone was so accommodating so there was no fuss or complaint. By half nine the kitchen had sent out the last of the food. Quarter past ten, and the only drinks left were water, tea, and lemonade. Even so, Colin enthusiastically gave the last call at half ten. ‘Time’ was officially called at eleven, but no one was in a rush, and it was one in the morning when the last patron departed.

“Well, that’s the last time we’ll be doing that.” Colin’s voice was bittersweet.

“Nothing lasts forever, so you best make use of the time given to you. It’s been a good run, and I hope you enjoyed it half as well as I did. Keep these memories close, and they will help you get through whatever the future has in store.”

Once the cleaning up was done, the staff held a final toast before departing. Colin was the last to leave. The last thing he did was to look back at what had been his pride and joy. The smile was one that people put on when they could not cry. Out went the lights, and the door was locked.

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[willtheweaver]

Nine lines, nine people

Thanks for the tag @winterandwords

Share 9 lines from your story then tag 9 people

From Snow on the Pines:

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“Hey…look at this.”

Playa rushed over to see what Fen had found. I sling up almost the entire page was a picture that looked vaguely familiar.

“This…this is clearly a machine,but one that looks like it could be an early version of those things that were swarming around the village.”

“I know.” Fen agreed. He then turned back to the book. “But this technology is beyond anything either bird or fox could achieve. I can’t see how it’s possible, and yet here is proof that it is.”

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Tagging @mxxnlightwriting @seastarblue @theink-stainedfolk @inkednotebook @rumeysawrites

@bunnymermaidwrites @honeybewrites @fantasy-things-and-such @the-letterbox-archives and open tag

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 19

Just five more after this! My how time flies!

Today’s prompts: A festival, he lost himself in the moment, he lost all thought of logic, of warning, of danger, and let himself be, living only for the moment

It was Hugo’s first winter market.

From the window he could see the stalls and booths being assembled, hear the sound of merchants unloading their wares, and the smell of all sorts of foods and drinks.

Having spent so much of his short life on the run, Hugo had missed out on the small things that made life enjoyable. Find refuge from a sympathetic family had restored a sense of normalcy, but he had to spend almost all of his time inside the house. Being a child, he loved nothing more than sneaking out when all the adults were gone. And so he grabbed his coat, a small bag of coins, and a hat and scarf. He had reached the door when Ida appeared.

“Going somewhere?” She asked.

“Oh, just sneaking out to see what was in the market.” He stated matter-of-fact. “You want to come?”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize you and turn you in?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He reassured her. “I dyed my hair just yesterday. It’s been growing out, and I needed to get the roots colored. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. And just in case, I ‘borrowed’ your father’s hat. Being a bit large for my head means that I can conceal my face if needs be. We’ll just be two more kids in the crowd.”

“You’ve thought of everything, didn’t you?” Ida grinned.

“I did.” Hugo returned the smile. “Now, let’s waste no more time.”

It was a day neither would forget. Their first stop was the baker’s stall, and from there they left with a tall stack of gingerbread that they munched throughout the day. The smell of spiced mulled wine tempted them, but they decided against getting any. The wood carvers and toy makers were their favorites. It was mesmerizing seeing dolls, nutcrackers, puppets, and intense burners being made in front of their eyes. The only scare came when they ran into Krampus. Thankfully, they had been good all year and so they avoided the stick.

The sun began to set when they decided to head back home. It was still a few hours before Ida’s father returned. Everything was put back where it belonged, and he was oblivious to what the two children did that day.

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[willtheweaver]

Thanks. This is something we all need right now.

@illarian-rambling @paeliae-occasionally @thelovelymachinery @vesanal @gioiaalbanoart @agirlandherquill

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by Comicname

👍

[willtheweaver]

*I will almost certainly do a part 2 to this*

[willtheweaver]

Knock knock!✊ You received this message because your blog made someone's day!❤ Now send this to 10 other bloggers you think, they make your day.💌 If you get 4 back, you are a wonderful blogger!!! ✨

Cheers!

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[willtheweaver]

Knock knock!✊ You received this message because your blog made someone's day!❤ Now send this to 10 other bloggers you think, they make your day.💌 If you get 4 back, you are a wonderful blogger!!! ✨

Thanks!

I will spread the ❤️ to @the-golden-comet @paeliae-occasionally @illarian-rambling @agirlandherquill @theeccentricraven

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[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 18

Wassail everyone!!! And thanks for the tag @fantasy-things-and-such

Today’s prompts: a home, the burn of pain

It was late at night when there came a knock on the door.

Miles blinked. Then came another knock. He knew it was not a figment of his imagination, but who would be traveling to this place, and at this time at night? Still, he had an obligation to answer. And so he reached for the crutches that leaned against his chair before slowly rising. He could manage only a slow, unsteady pace, and so it took a few minutes for him to reach the door.

Standing just outside was an eccentricity dressed man. His coat and hat were brightly colored, his shoes were pointed, and a velvet bag was slung across his back. All in all, the stranger had the look of an old-fashioned minstrel or troubadour.

“Good evening kind sir.”

The stranger’s voice was soft and soothing.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Miles asked.

“I do not think so.” There was a mysterious and mischievous smile on the stranger’s face.“I’m just a humble traveler. One member out of the countless that makes up the brotherhood of the road. I’m sure one wanderer looks much like another.”

“Oh.” Miles was not totally convinced, but he didn’t want to press the matter. “Well, in any case, don’t stand there out in the cold. Come in. I apologize for the lack of comforts. No one comes to these parts, and all I can offer is some bread and a spot by the fire.”

“That will do for me.”

And so the stranger sat himself down on a worn chair as Miles fixed what refreshments he could. It was clearly that this was once a grand house, but it had fallen into a state of shabbiness and disrepair. Faded and threadbare carpets covered worn floors, while dust and cobwebs gathered thick in the corners. The cup of ale he offered was chipped, and the plate only had a piece of bread and a sliver of dried meat. But the stranger didn’t care, in fact he stated that Miles had treated him like a king. The two sat by the fire in silence for a few minutes. Then the stranger spoke.

“I noticed that yours was the only house here.” He remarked. “But from the look of all the loose stones and foundation outlines, it seems that this was once a prosperous town.”

“That it was.” There was a hint of pain in Miles’s voice. “It’s not a tale I like to share…but I guess you should know.

“It all started nearly thirty years ago. The town was beset by a plague of rats. Nothing we could do could get rid of them. My father, the mayor, declared that he would reward anyone who could get rid of the vermin with a sack of gold.

“Within a day a man who looked much like you arrived saying he could rid the town of the rats with nothing more than his pipes. And that he did. He played a fast and lively tune, and from every house and crevice came the rats. The Piper played on, leaping and dancing through the streets until he reached the river. He halted along the banks, but continued playing. The rats…they were unable to resist. Countless thousands leaped into the rushing waters where they drowned.”

“And did this Piper get paid?” The stranger asked. It was clear that he was interested in the tale his host told.

“Nay. And that was the problem. My father thought something was up. ‘Not a single copper will be shown to you.’ He declared. The Piper was outraged.

“‘So this is your answer?’ He replied. ‘I have done all that you asked of me, and now you go back on your word? What sort of people are you, to possess such low morals? No matter, I will exact my pay, one way or another.’

“The Piper stormed out of the town hall and into the main square. Placing pipe to lips, be played a tune different to the first one. I don’t remember much of it. In fact I cannot remember much about what happened next. My father said that every last child in the town became enthralled by the music and followed much like the rats did. But instead of towards the river, the Piper strolled up into the hills. The adults tried everything, but the children only listened to the Piper. At last he came to a rock face that was marked by a gaping cave. I heard the Piper’s voice in my head. He said it was the gateway to somewhere beyond the ills of the world. A place of happiness and perceptual spring. He walked right into the cave, music echoing and amplified. Owing to my disability, I had fallen behind the rest of the children. The last of them entered, and then a great rock like a door fell and sealed the cave. With no music, I snapped out of the trance. I was the one left behind. The realization hit me. I fell to my knees and cried for the longest time.

“Everyone was heartbroken. Slowly people moved away. Block by block, person by person, the town disappeared. Only my father stayed. For the remainder of his life he prayed for forgiveness. None came. Travelers for the most part stopped coming, and the few who did venture here refused to take his money. It’s all up in the office…that troublemaking gold. I would do anything to be rid of it and all the woe it has caused.”

Miles said no more. The old memories troubled him deeply. Silence descended again.

“So the old man sought atonement, but got none.” The stranger finally said. “Better a change of heart come late than never. And you…no bitterness, just sadness and pain covering a good heart. You have no reason to give me food and shelter, and yet you do. I guess it is only fitting I repay this somehow.”

From his velvet bag the stranger produced a set of pipes. Miles’s heart skipped a beat. The music that filled the room was so familiar… he was taken back to his childhood and that fateful day. He looked at the stranger. He was on the verge of speaking, but a feeling of tiredness suddenly came over him.

When he awoke the next day, Miles could barely remember what had happened the night before. Thinking a cup of ale was the thing to help him collect his thoughts, he rose. It was the strangest feeling; his legs felt strong and stable. He walked around the house, and it was only on the third go around that he became convinced that it wasn’t a dream. But just to make doubly sure, he ascended the stairs up to the old office. In the corner was the entire wealth of his family. Well, almost all. For Miles noticed that a single sack of gold was missing.

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[willtheweaver]

*I will almost certainly do a part 2 to this*

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 17

Heading down the home stretch now! Thanks for the tag @theeccentricraven

Today’s prompts: a mountain, “Let this fight be our last. Make it so.”

“Come on! Is that the best you’ve got?” Magnus shouted defiantly as he swung his pick into the hard unyielding rock. He was halfway up a jagged peak that had defied all who tried to summit it.

It was said to be the place where all the winds of the world came to rest at night before departing for the furthest lands and seas when day came. Many had dared to climb it. No one lived to try a second time. No one save Magnus. He had been repelled countless times; rockfalls, blizzards, lightning all pummeled him. He had broken every bone in his body, and yet he refused to be bowed.

“We have played this game for over a decade now, friend. And every time you’ve gotten the better of me. I’ve had a lot of time to learn from my failures. Each one is a lesson, and with every lesson I’ve gotten better.”

The wind howled with fury. It seemed to take on a voice of its own.

Let this fight be our last.

Magnus laughed like only a madman who was facing certain death could.

“Make it so.” He declared.

It seemed that the mountain was now throwing everything it got at him. Snow flew horizontally as the wind waged war upon the defiant interloper. Yet Magnus perused. He hugged the cliff face where he could, sinking anchor points for ropes so he would not be blown off. Inch by inch, he ascended the face of the mountain. Soon he found himself in the clouds, and the heart of the tempest. It was a twilight of slate grey that reduced visibility to just beyond one’s hand. Here came gusts from every which way, shouting and screaming like a million beasts throwing into the same pit. Every now and then a flash of lightning broke through the darkness. And still Magnus persisted.

At last he broke through the clouds. In front of him was the peak. It stood like an island floating on a sea of storm clouds. Beyond, the grey and white broke to reveal a world so small it could be blotted out by a hand. Above were the stars. Below was the curve of the earth. And all around were the gales.

Magnus took the last stretch slowly. Buffeted by the winds, he inched forward until he could go no higher.

“I could almost see the whole world from here.” He said, a weary smile crept onto his face. He bent over and swung his pack forward. From inside he produced a small metal urn. He held it gently in his hands for a moment. With one hand, he removed the lid before tilting the urn. The ashes within were caught by the wind and were scattered in every direction.

“Well love, you wanted to see the world. Now a little of you will be everywhere. I’m sorry it took so long, but now I hope you are smiling, your lifelong dream now fulfilled.”

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[willtheweaver]

WIP Someday tag

TY for the tag @space-writes

From Snow on the Pines:

—————————————————————

At this time of year, the night air was clean and crisp. It seemed that sounds carried further without anything to clutter them out. It all felt so peaceful, so tranquil. Were it not for the cold, Fen wouldn’t have minded it being like this more frequently.

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Tagging @rumeysawrites @thatuselesshuman @aintgonnatakethis @i-do-anything-but-write @the-golden-comet

@winterandwords @inseasofgreen @thebadphilosopher @thepeculiarbird @pluppsauthor and open tag

[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 16

Sweet 16! TY for the tag @whatwewrotepodcast

Today’s prompts: “Do not let them find you.”, a crypt

Footsteps echoed on the stones and reverberated throughout the crypt. Row upon row of alcoves contained countless dead who had been interred here over the years. Every now and then side halls, chapels, and communal burial chambers branched off the main corridor. But none of that mattered to the two currently running, as they continued straight.

“Only a little further!” Donna shouted some encouragement as she would see Ada staring to waver.

They reached the end. It was a grand private tomb that contained only a single stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. Almost every inch of the walls were carved and engraved with interacted reliefs.

Donna ran her hand against the wall. What she was looking for soon became clear as one of the reliefs yielded with little pressure. There came a grinding noise as the sarcophagus slid back, revealing a secret staircase.

“This was made ages ago by the first king.” Donna explained. “He wanted a discreet escape route near to his palace in case any enemies came knocking. It served him well, it will do for you as well.”

“But what about you? Aren’t you coming?” Ada asked.

“No. Someone needs to buy you time.” Donna revealed from beneath her coat several bombs. “It’s you they are after. The blood that runs in your veins…if they get a hold of you, they will have the powers to destroy the world. Don’t let them find you.” She had barely any time to finish when the sound of screams and footsteps coming from the corridor.

“Go! The tunnel will take you to the edge of the port. Find a ship. There are enough coins in the purse for you to buy passage to the ends of the world. Get as far away from here as possible.” Donna paused only long enough to manifest a sword from shadow.

“There will be people out there who will help you. Seek them out. Forge a life you want to live.”

Ada descended the steps. At the foot, she hesitated and looked back. She heard the sound of stone scraping against stone as the sarcophagus slid over the top, sealing the tunnel. Now all alone and in the dark, Ada ran down the passage. Once again, she paused. There were the sounds of muffled screams followed by an explosion that shook the corridor and sent dust flying. Trying her best to hold back tears, Ada rushed headlong to the end of the passageway.

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[willtheweaver]

Writemas day 15

Cheers! Hope everyone is enjoying themselves. Thanks for the tag @theeccentricraven, and as always, a big thanks to @agirlandherquill for the event

Today’s prompts: A bonfire, the roses passed from hand to hand only grew more bloody, as thorns pricked palms, as blood mingled, the beautiful weapon became a tool, a reminder that even beauty was not sacred, it was shared in the blood between them.

They piled the wood high. Great logs stacked in a cone, and in between were smaller branches, some of which still had green needles. Lastly, bundles of twigs and straw were stuffed into gaps, and rested against the larger pieces of wood. Once all was ready, the robed figures set the whole thing alight. Flames shot high into the sky as all who were gathered formed a circle around the bonfire. The priest was marked by his white robes. He raised hand, calling all to listen to what he had to say.

“Memories of the past are all around. You just need to listen. Even the most ordinary and humble beings have something to say, though the truth of their words may hide beneath many layers.”

“Look here.” The priest raised a bunch of roses for all to see.

“Beauty. Ephemeral grace…but one that is not entirely defenseless. The unwary and the greedy do not know until they force themselves onto it, and the thorns draw blood.

“Nothing in this world is inherently good or evil. It is how it is used, and the will of the wielder that determines that. Remember that lesson. Remember that with power comes responsibility, and that everything has a price to pay.”

The priest passed the bundle of roses to the person on their right. They picked one from the bunch before branding the rest to the one on their right. And so it went, each one in the circle taking a rose before passing the flowers to the next person. Thorns dug into flesh, and the stems soon became slick with blood. At last the final flower came into the hands of the final member of the circle.

“Let the shedding of blood here now bind us all to our common purpose. Watch over others like a Shepard their sheep. Treat all with generosity, and keep the memories of the past alive.”

All nodded. They then tossed the blood-soaked roses into the fire. When the fire had burned itself out, the group dispersed, leaving nothing but ash and charred wood to mark their presence.

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