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Tag Archives: wrath

The March Continues

29 Wednesday May 2013

Posted by shudderingwords in update

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blog, book, gaming, life, schedules, school, update, wrath, Writing

The march is endless and I am caught in the current of its continuous tide. The waters fill my mouth and lungs, causing me to spit and spew what words I can in order to keep my head above  the waves. Others that move through the waters do the same thing, and I can’t help but feel that it is in some way all pointless. I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, what we do matters, but it is hard to know that when you taste the salt and grime of a particularly harsh wave.

School, a word that makes people think of a multitude of things. Actual learning is not usually one of those things when thinking of the experience, though it is the reason that we go. At least, that’s what we like to tell ourselves. The point that I am trying to pass on right now is the excuse of why I haven’t been writing lately, and why I have apparently fallen off of the face of the earth.

If I were to simply state that it was school that was keeping me away from my writing, then that would be a bold faced lie. Work, television, and video games are huge culprits in this crime. I have finished my first year of college as of three weeks ago and I have been content to sit back and let my brain rot away for that small hiatus. Now, however, I’ve been itching to do productive things, and so writing has decided to take the seat in my mind once again.

Within the next couple of weeks, I’ll be settling back down into a schedule. These things of course take a bit of time, but when I do, you can expect to see Wrath and his miserable plight taking flight once more. Ideas dance with different masks, eager for me to discover who they really are. I look forward to the challenge in rigid anticipation, and Wrath will once more adorn the pages of this blog.

Farewell for now; much more frequent delights are coming soon.

Bilbo and Gandalf say hello!! :D

Bilbo and Gandalf say hello!! 😀

Shattered Chapter 3 Part 2

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by shudderingwords in Writing

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

book, chapter, chapter 3 part 2, entry, family, relance, shattered, story, update, wrath, Writing

I want to go ahead and apologize for the length of this post because I don’t have time to go back and edit it to a more manageable/bite-sized length. Also, because of school and work, as well as a new writing project that came up, the posts of my book will slow even further. This may be the last post for a long time until I finish school for the year and figure out a schedule for my other project. Anyway, I really hope that you enjoy this one and don’t worry, I will finish the book. 

Chapter 3: Part 1

The sudden voice from behind pulled Wrath out of his reverie, tearing the old feeling out of his chest.

“What if I told you they were no longer here?”

Wrath turned slowly, trying to keep from exploding at the man in front of his family.

“I beg your pardon?” A nasty smile spread slowly over his features.

The man repeated himself without a skip, “What if I told you they were no longer here?”

“I still don’t understand your meaning.” Wrath felt his anger flair back up, warming his stomach and quickening his breath.

“Just look.” The man gestured.

Wrath did not want to, but he felt the glow in his stomach turn cold and become a dull throb. Slowly he turned back, trying to keep the smile on his face.

His smile turned into a snarl when he turned. Nothing. He saw nothing! His family had disappeared!

Wrath whipped back around and lashed out at where the man stood. He curled his fingers ever so slightly to make an imitation of a claw, ready to gouge the man’s eyes out. But instead of feeling skin gather under his nails, his hand flew through thin air. That did not stop Wrath’s attack, however, and instead he carried on his momentum and swung his sword with the other hand in an attempt to severe the neck of the man. Still, Wrath felt no impact of any sort and was forced to stop in shock, not quite sure what was happening. The man stood calmly, smiling and holding his hands behind his back.

“Oh this is fun! I knew I had picked a good one!” Wrath was further surprised by a tone in the man’s voice that he thought sounded giddy with excitement. The man laughed.

“What did you do with my family?” Wrath demanded.

“What do you mean?” The man splayed his hands and shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated manner, acting the perfect innocent.

“Where are they?” He bit off each word, making each a separate statement.

“I didn’t do anything to them, and I haven’t the slightest notion as to where they could possibly be.” The man shrugged again. “Honest!”

Wrath was not pleased and he gripped his sword even more tightly. “They were there. You and I both saw them. Heard them. Where are they?”

The man smiled and put on a face that screamed of a mock sympathy. It was infuriating.

“Where are they? Tell me or I’ll gut you right here on my floors!” Wrath’s voice was thick with hate.

“Aye? And how did that work for you just a moment ago? Honestly Wrath, what on earth do you think is going on here?” The face of mock sympathy became angry. “Don’t you see what has happened to the world out there? How can you talk of building walls for a society that no longer exists? How can you be standing here inside with your family while the society that you were suppose to help is outside tearing itself apart. Come to think of it, there is no more society, just creatures. Well, human, but more creature than not, all given into desire. What about helping them?”

Wrath stood, letting the man talk, still not trusting, but becoming confused once again. How did this man know about the argument that he and Randyl had? What did he mean by society being ruined? He obviously still had a home here, with his family. The man continued.

“This society has been long dead. You are the last. You and I, actually. Leave behind these fantasies and I can give you real death. Real peace. An end. No longer will memories like this haunt you. Don’t you want that? You told me earlier that you did. Would you give it up for something as feeble as memories like this?” The man stopped speaking, giving Wrath a chance to answer.

Wrath thought. And instead of the calm that the man was no doubt expecting of Wrath, he instead felt his anger coming back in waves.

“How can you say that? How can you say that my family is not important, that everyone I used to know is now dead? I’m trying my best to stay alive, to make a bad situation into a good one. I know that there are monsters out there, but I refuse to believe that everyone is dead. I talked with Randyl. We are still working on the wall. Just a part of the city was invaded by the creatures that walked the forest around the city and we were working on that!” Wrath fought tears. “How can you say any of this?”

“Memories, Wrath. That’s all these are. The wall was left unfinished hundreds of years ago. Your society is no longer there and those people that you talk to? You are imagining them.”

“How can you say that?” Wrath was shouting now, tears streamed down his face.

“Wrath.” The man tried to get his attention, but Wrath was not listening. All the pain, frustration, fear and helplessness that he had been feeling for years was suddenly becoming too much for him. His breath became short and his vision faded. There was nothing fair in this world left. Everything was being taken away from him, and there was nothing that he could do.

Then everything went dark. Time passed as he tried to reason with himself, with the way that things were. Wrath felt cold again. So cold that he felt that even had he been sitting in the middle of a blazing fire could his bones be warm again. Nothing in the world could dispel the cold and deep sorrow that permeated his soul in that moment. It was all becoming too much. He wanted to die. This man promised death…but at what cost?

Still, the voice was with him; faint but ever present. “Wrath. All is not lost. You can still join your family, but you must do something. Your family has been gone for a long time. What you have been seeing was your mind coping-”

“Then why did you not leave me to my fantasy?Let me cope, don’t tear it all away.” Wrath interrupted, his voice bitter.

“Because there is a plan.” The voice said.

“I never volunteered.”

“No. But you were chosen. And I beg you to comply with your calling. There is no one else who can do what I am asking.” The voice said, pleading.

Wrath was silent for a while, then, “Convince me since I see no reason.”

“The only reason you need is my word.” The voice said, “However, if you seek more than my word, know that you would die eventually if you kept up this fairy tale that you try to live. A single person in a world of creatures that once use to be family, friends, merchants, kings, princes, paupers, writers, singers, beggars, men, women and children cannot stand alone and live. For you are alone. If you do not act, the world will plunge into oblivion. The exception is that the souls that are in the animate and dead bodies, your soul, will remain. The god that created you would leave and you would be left conscious and aware and alone.” The voice seemed to run out of reasons, but instead finished, “ If anything, I know and you have said, you do not wish that upon yourself. That is why you have fought. That is why you have not thrown yourself on your sword. I am merely pushing you along on the journey that you were suppose to do yourself.”

“Why me?” Wrath asked.

“Why? Every being has a right to self-preservation and you are a part of that plan to it. Do not ask again, push the question out of your mind. It has been asked by every being in existence, all for different reasons. Don’t ask, just do you calling. The answers will come.”

“Fine. You have convinced me, even if it is for self-preservation. I do not understand, but I am beginning to realize that understanding will not come by sitting here.” Wrath said, “I think that I am ready. I do ask, though, to not ask me to give up any memories of my family. Those are the only things that keep me from giving in.”

“I understand.” The voice said.

“I am curious, though.” Wrath began, “Do you have a name?”

“You ask for something that is never freely given.” The voice paused, “But for you, for the sake of trust, I will give it to you. It is Relance. Not my true name, but close to it. I do not give you my real name for fear that it would kill you.”

Odd though it seemed to think that a name would kill a person, Wrath thought that he could understand why Relance would say such a thing. A feeling of immense ecstasy shook his limbs, making him shudder violently. In a flash, it disappeared. The feeling lasting only as long as it took for the name to pass over the tongue. Had a true name been spoken, Wrath would surely quit existence.

“Relance.” Wrath whispered, musing, again feeling the warm shudder, though his tongue seemed unable to say the name with sufficient grace and power, thus making the effect weaker.

The dark that shadowed Wrath’s eyes faded and Wrath saw the man’s face in front of his own. Instead of lashing out to hurt the man, Wrath only said, “Thank you.”

The man named Relance smiled.

Time For Writing

10 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by shudderingwords in update

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

3, author, book, business, chapter, chapter3, fingers, literature, long time, pages, tea, words, wrath, Writing

Writing the next chapter!

Pages spread out for effect.

 

So I’m writing the next chapter in my book! That there is my outline and about seven or eight pages of writing. Took me about an hour and a half, so, not too bad! The story is moving along, and now that finals are almost over, I have been indulging myself in some writing that I have been meaning to do for a long time. My fingers and mind were beginning to itch!

Ahhh…tea is nice, words are good, writing on.

Wrath, my friend, we will save you.

Wrath, I’m Sorry!

06 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by shudderingwords in NaNoWriMo

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

article notes, happening, much, NaNoWriMo, negligence, nice view, not, plight, tags, wrath, Writing

I’m trying, friends! I really am! School seems to have its own agenda about what I’m going to be doing this week, and is thus postponing my novel until later on, however. I have two papers coming up, a speech, and an astronomy test! There seems to be no end this week, and my characters have been lamenting my negligence!

Soon! I’ll soon post Chapter two, and you will be able to enjoy Wrath’s plight just a little longer until the next chapter without as much of a wait!

Tea, article, notes, and pulled hair!!

At least I have a nice view as I work!

 

Chapter 1 of Shattered

13 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by shudderingwords in Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Ben, book, chapter, first, my, shattered, smith, story, wrath, Writing

bug

It’s pretty, so it’s here.

Shattered is the title of my book. It’s a kind of post-apocalyptic Fantasy novel that will be split into four parts. I will not be revealing any of the plot here, but I am going to post the first chapter. It’s the second draft, and while I’m still not completely happy with it and the plot is still under development, I know enough to where I have started writing with some confidence. You will meet Wrath, one of my main characters and while he may not yet be all there mentally, I think he will be a character that some people will be able to sympathize with. I hope that this first chapter draws the reader in and makes them ask questions. That’s the main point of the first chapter, right?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. If you do, let me know, if not, let me know. I’m just trying to get a feel for this. Here goes:

*sigh*

Chapter 1

“Do me a favor and die would you?” Wrath looked down at his battered hands, his coarse voice rasping in disgust. “Nothing ever seems to come with you. You go on and on and on, never quite letting go.” Anger crept into his voice and spittle flew from his cracked lips. Black hair fell over blue eyes that brimmed with tears in frustration. Shivers took a hold of his body and he fell down to one knee, catching himself with his left hand.

“Die!” His mouth turned into a snarl as he scratched the cobblestones with his nails as if to make them bleed.

“Darling…why do you weep?” A soft voice asked. “Isn’t it enough that you live a hard life without wishing death upon yourself?”

Wrath’s eyes found the voice’s own and he gazed into them. Warm and vibrant they were; green pastures within a round face, pale as the moon and surrounded by gold fibers. Red lips puckered into a smile, and a hint of teeth showed between the gap.

“Rachel. You are not suppose to be here.” The shakes had ceased. “You are suppose to be with the children!”

Rachel reached down to Wrath and lifted him to his feet, saying, “No, you are suppose to be with them remember? I am with others right now and later we are going to a ball!” She smiled wider, cocking her head ever so slightly. “Or did you forget again?” And she embraced him.

She was cold, and her fingers held none of the warmth that her eyes did. That, however, was normal. She had always been cold to the touch. Cold, but beautiful. And Wrath suddenly did remember.

“Silly of me, Love. I had completely forgotten. I shall go to them right away and see that they are safe!”

Rachel smiled at him and said, “Thank you. I have to run now, I will see you later in the eve.”

“Of course.”

And she walked away, her hips swaying in the milky white dress that she wore upon her slender form; leaving Wrath to himself.

The snarl returned, and the children forgotten immediately.

Wrath turned his eyes to the cobbled streets and ruined buildings. The moon waxed in the sky, casting deep shadows over the metropolis like spilled ink. He found himself standing alone in one of the old courtyards in the city, heaps of stones surrounded him. Windows lay barren and old doorways were barricaded with the dead bodies of ancient civilians. However, it wasn’t the dead that bothered Wrath here. It was the eyes that he could not see, staring down at him, accusing and hurtful.

He shoved a hand into one of his eyes and rubbed hard, causing it to tear up. “I can’t do this. I can not.”

Yet somehow, he did. Wrath shifted the sword that he held over one shoulder and carried on. Through more deserted streets and courtyards he passed. He never felt alone, though, as the eyes that watched him never left.

Did he just speak with someone? Was it Rachel? He could not remember.

No matter, he had to keep his eyes open for their eyes. The evil ones.

His snarl passed like it had never been, and he drew his sword. There was the feeling of real eyes upon him, he was sure. Animal instinct bounded to the forefront of his mind, eradicating any thoughts of Rachel or…whatever it was she had said, if she had said anything at all.

He focused on what was in front of him, peering into shadows that were created by the buildings surrounding him. He knew that there would be no warning if he were attacked. It had happened before, many times, but he was not going to ignore his instincts because of an ego that had built up over time.

“Come here you slimy bastards!” Wrath shouted into the night’s air. Oh how badly he wanted them to come to him so that he could slide his sword into their pale skin. He wanted to see the blood run thick and watch their peering peepers go dim!

Come they did. Bounding toward him from their hiding places in fact. The shouting had alerted them and now they were on the run, to kill whatever had made the disruption. Wrath’s pulse escalated to a frenzy and he found it hard to breath or to see, yet his mind had never been clearer. It was this feeling that he lived for now. Nothing could destroy the rush that he felt, it was in him, and it ran through his veins.

The first of the creatures jumped over a mount of stones that sat in an alley to Wrath’s right. The street was tight, much to Wrath’s pleasure, the killing would be easy this way.

Human in form and much emaciated; the creature’s pale skin shone like a beacon in the dark. The moon wrapped its naked body in light far brighter than it did Wrath. The eyes that Wrath so vehemently abhorred were sunken into a balding elongated skull. It’s teeth were the only clean thing about it, and they shone brightly in a perfect smile. He, and it was a male, was a skeleton wrapped in too little skin, ready for some blood.

Of course, Wrath thought, it would be the humanoid’s blood on the stones, not Wrath’s this night.

Wrath took a sideways stance and nodded to the man in front of him, his sword poised above his head. A breath seemed to sigh through the streets before the two rushed at each other, humanoid screaming and flailing, Wrath gliding through the arms of the beast and practically dancing with his sword.

And a dance it was, though of night and day, dark against light, one savage, the other a leaf in the breeze. Steel glinted in the moon’s radiance only darkened by the blood of its victim. Other shadowed humanoids watched from alleyways and rooftops, waiting to see what would become of their potential victim. They watched as the steel glittered and the nails of the man Wrath was fighting became covered in blood. Soon, too soon for Wrath’s taste, the dance was over. Wrath stood over his assaulter, staring in victory as rivers of blood ran between the cobblestones in the street.

Then he turned to face his next opponent, his breathing turned heavy and once again, the blood lust overcame him. Two, this time, rushed at him, crying out in harsh voices. Once again the night became a stage as the man and once-men danced their symphonic promenade.

The night rained red and buildings were coated once again in a curtain of wolf’s bounty. The dead in the street watched the fight, envy building inside of them, as the three clashed at each other without any thought of what they desired most.

Wrath had lost himself in the old ways of his love to fight. Power, strength, and savage cunning were what kept him alive and they had served him far better than virtue, patience, and loyalty. His old sword’s-master had taught him wrongly he long realized. For when on the battlefield, nothing else mattered but the strongest. Weak against strong, and it never paid to be weak.

At last, the fight was over, and any other once-men that had been lurking during the fight had disappeared. They would try again, Wrath knew. They always did.

A sudden clapping snapped Wrath out of his rage making him swing his sword toward the sound. Instead, a familiar face greeted him.

“That was wonderful, Aron! Your father would be proud of you! How about you go at it again, only this time, more flair! It is dreadfully dull if you dispose of all your opponents in the same manner.” Wrath’s sword’s-master was standing over one of the once-men’s body. It had been he who had made the clapping, and a wide smile was plastered on his face in open admiration.

“Da’Aron!” Wrath did not return the smile. “It was perfect! Flawless! You can’t mean that I wasn’t good enough again, and you got my name wrong. I go by Wrath, remember?”

Da’Aron flapped his hand in Wrath’s direction in a dismissive way, sending a flood of rage through Wrath. “Close, but not perfect. Try again! When I return from the others, I expect perfection. Just killing your enemy is not enough, anyone can kill someone, but it takes a real master to kill someone beautifully!” He smiled even wider at Wrath through a dark beard, “When I return.” And faded into the night.

Wrath knew what happened now, however. Da’Aron would not return, and Wrath would not live up to the man’s expectations. He was dead, Wrath remembered now, and that made him angry. How could someone who was dead, who had not been good enough, admonish someone who was alive for the skills that had kept Wrath alive for so long. His old sword’s-master had been too far into the beauty of the way a sword was swung than the actual killing.

Oh how Wrath wished that he was dead now. A normal death would be acceptable to him. Living for an eternity did things to a man and when a man lived in a hell like this, it was hard to want to continue living. However, a normal death was not possible any more than grass growing within fire here. The body could die, but the spirit continued on living, watching in envy of those who were still alive. Wrath did not want that kind of fate. He wanted to lie down and let his spirit pass on to those whom he loved a millennium ago.

Wrath rubbed his eye by pressing his left palm into it, trying to clear the tears that were threatening to fall. All of them, passed on, long before the world had turned into what it was now. He wished that the men that attacked him now would go back to their old jobs as merchants, peddlers, and smiths. The courtyards and streets had been filled with laughter and singing, the sun shining down on people’s faces as they did business and bantered with each other. People passed into the clouds with loved ones staring into a pale face, waiting their turn further along to join the one that had preceded them. Things were normal and Wrath missed the normal. If the war that the gods had waged hadn’t happened, he would be about four hundred years gone with his wife and four children. But no, they had to be slaughtered and he had to be the one that went on living.

Wrath began to walk, trying to force his mind from the sadness that was building in him. He was here, and he had to deal with it the only way that he knew. Violence had brought him this far, and it would keep him alive. Soon enough the city would run out of these once-men, and when it did, maybe he would be able to die normally. Whoever said that immortality was a good thing, Wrath wanted nothing more than to punch them in the jaw and shove their idea down their throat.

The moon was starting to set and Wrath could now see the first signs of dawn coming over the horizon.

“Time to move on home. I wonder if any of the kids are there.” He turned and walked toward one of the many palaces that littered the lower levels of the city that he called…home.

Copyright: Ben Smith Aug. 13, 2012

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