Fantasy
Lem's growing pain
Sparking up his pipe Von sat at his window watching the early evening bustle in the streets below. He had been a solitary man his whole life, never delving into other’s business and certainly never with the intention of raising a child. At times he questioned why he had not dropped Lem off at the local orphanage, or found a woman to raise him. Von could have provided financial support, but he had not. He had made his choice the day he had returned home with him. There was something about this child.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
No Ordinary Child
The sun shone down bouncing rays off the water in front of Von. He was sat on a rock at the entrance of a cave above a lake outside the city. He came here to meditate and to find quiet. Closing his eyes he felt the warmth hit his skin, the peace of this place allowed him to think clearly. Opening his eyes he watched the lake sparkle as the sun caused the water to sparkle and shine. His peace was quickly interrupted by a piercing scream, a small child stood with his trousers rolled up with the water lapping his feet, but where seconds ago he had been enjoying the cool water, he was suddenly stricken with fear and grief. His mother lay unmoving nearby, an arrow piercing her chest and her basket of fish lay cast aside. Von watched motionless as two men slowly approached, one bent to check the mother was dead whilst the other approached the small child drawing his string back slowly. Von stood up, grabbing his staff and let the anger that had built within him in the last few seconds flow from his heart to his fingertips, feeling the energy begin to burn in his fingers he smashed his staff to the ground fixing this man with an unwavering glare. The rock beneath his staff cracked and he directed the energy with his mind into the mans bow, which shattered in his grasp.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Strike Team Revised
Hector stood slightly apart from his team. Their nervous chatter and bursts of laughter grated on his focus. Some Strike teams entered the arena for glory or thrills—but not his. For them, this was survival. A brutal winter loomed, and the winnings from the Strike were their only hope of making it through.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Strike Arena
Hector stood slightly apart from his team. Their nervous chatter and bursts of laughter grated on his focus. Some Strike teams entered the dome for glory or thrills—but not his. For them, this was survival. A brutal winter loomed, and the winnings from the Strike were their only hope of securing enough rations and power cells to make it through.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
The City of Springs
The reality of the thieves' tunnels was not what those who reside above ground picture or believe them to be. Above ground, it is pictured that those who live under it, live in damp, cold, barely habitable conditions, with penetrating darkness and unforgivably unsanitary conditions, with tunnels that are so complicated that it remains a mystery as to how anyone can navigate even a small well known portion of them.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Mystery of the mist
Lem looked out over the city, the mists had started to decend, and they decended quickly, he stood stock still watching, the cool air began to make his skin tingle with cold, he felt the hairs on his arms stand up on end. The air became thicker and mistier, down below he watched as a few people scurried along the streets, he could feel thier panic as they scuffled in doors. Lem was not afraid of the mists. He had not dismissed it as an old wives tale, he had witnessed the horrors that dewlt within, and seen what they had done to people he knew. There was something more though, Lem didnt know what it was, but he felt that there was someting more to this, a higher power, he sensed it, he knew it from within. Lem closed his eyes and felt with his mind, willing it to locate whatever the horror in the center of this mist was, searching. He felt his senses sharpen and his ears pricked for every unexpected sound. He felt the air become thicker around him, and controlled his emotions, not giving into doubts or fear, listening hard he could almost hear screams from far off, he concentrated everything on this voice, cries, screams, but what was it saying.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Dealings at Dusk
Aart’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight as he hauled himelf out of one of the grates in the side of the street. Replacing the grill he begun to stalk down the narrow side streets of the city. He was headed towards an Inn that was close by with a hand written note from one of the thief bosses. Aart had of course already read it, he liked to keep himself as informed as possible. With as many peoples businesses as possible ‘Two g, three days from now, Pipers’. Aart wasnt very interested by this bosses opiate dealings, as thats what he interpretted it to mean. He just made a mental note not to accept jobs from him unless he really needed the money. Aart didnt like to get involved in the movement of drugs, he didnt like the effect it had on people, and he never trusted the dealers. It was too easy for them to get thier own fix then blame it on the carrier. However having acceptd the job, he would carry through with it. Aart arrived at the Two Brewers Inn and decided to enter through the front door. It was full which was how he liked it. Slipping subtly to the edge of the room, he manoeuvred himself in between two groups of men drinking and talking loudly. He silently swiped a drink from a nearby table and slipped further round the room to a dark corner. Sipping the drink, not because he wanted it, but to be unnoticed in a crowd. Scanning the room he spotted his target immediatly, a tall man with a large forehead and a scar running down his cheek. Aart decided that this scar was probably caused by a scrap over drugs, and his instant dislike for the man was heightened when he grabbed the arse of a lady stood near by. She squealed and turned and smiled at him. The shallowness of these people in Aarts eyes annoyed him, and it was all Aart could do to keep his face neutral and not allow his disgust and judgement to show on his face. Aart had over the years perfected the art of subtlty, secracy and he prided himself on being able to blend into almost any situation or move around without being noticed. This wasnt hard in a crowded inn when half the clientel were most of the way to a morning headache. He slithreed through the bar to the otherside and stood right behind old scar face, he decided he didnt want to engage in conversation or even allow this man the chance to make the connection to his face, so he simply slipped the note into one of his pockets, and lifted some tax for himself out as he removed his hand. So quick and nibble he was with his fingers that the man didnt feel a thing. Aart ducked away and quickly examinded his loot, a small coin purse with several low value coins inside, a pocket watch and a key. Aart returned the key as he brushed past back towards the exit. Cant make the man homeless over a few leaves after all he thought.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Kael
Taking in the cool night air, Lem sat comfortably on top of the tallest buiding in the city, one leg dangling down, as if it was as natural as being sat at home, gazing down upon the thousands of people below him hauled up inside at night. How was he going to find this thief. This was a needle in a haystack task. This particular thief did seem to brave coming out of the underground network far more than others. Lem had seen his fingerprints over several jobs in the past week. However it did not change the fact that he was always one step behind, not a position Lem liked to find himself in.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
An Assassin’s Heart
The residual warmth of his bed began to ebb away as the cold crisp morning begun to penetrate his bones. Lem’s body clock woke him an hour before dawn. Throwing off his sheepskin cover Lem felt the waves of ice air breath in through the window. Training kicked in and Lem forced himself to not react to the signs his body was telling him.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
"Ashes and After"
The fire came suddenly, a ruthless thief in the night. It swallowed the village of Miranpur whole. One moment, the sun was setting over a peaceful place where children’s laughter bounced off mud walls and women sang songs while grinding grain. The next moment, smoke choked the sky, turning night into a haze of orange and ash.
By Najeeb Scholerabout a year ago in Fiction
Hellraiser: Ozzy Rules
Jack Ferrell pulls into the parking lot of the Boiler Room Club and Restaurant owned by J.P. Monroe. Jack and his friends Sharon, Kelly and Lemmy arrive at the club anxious to see their favorite band playing on stage. “I can’t believe we’re about to see Motörhead playing live” Kelly started with excitement. “Yeah, Lemmy’s been my favorite frontman since I was a kid” Sharon added. “Why thank you, Sharon. I had no idea you had such passion for me” Lemmy added sarcastically. “Be careful guys” Jack began. “You know this idiot gets a big head when you remind him that he’s named after the frontman of our favorite band.
By Joe Pattersonabout a year ago in Fiction
