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breezeshadow) wrote2014-03-02 10:36 pm
breezeshadow) wrote2014-03-02 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
The Weekend's Work
Writer's block is back, the cheeky shit, so I didn't get nearly as much done as I have the weekends before.
Even so, here's what I worked on. It's a continuation of the Athanaric story; I'll be editing that post since it's linked from![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dailyprompt.
Behind him came the sound of wings, then clawed feet stepping down onto the sand. He knew who it was, and continued to stare out at the sea, though his so-called charge had long ago been lost beneath the sun-lit waves. The footsteps that approached him were the soft falls of a human, and soon in his peripheral vision he saw an impossibly-tall woman whose skin glittered faintly in the light.
"You have been gone long, Master." Her voice had an ancient, extinct accent -- he knew of no one else who held it, a walking relic of another century. She glanced over at him and he could feel the burning of her gaze. "He has joined the merfolk. You should come back before the sun sets."
The woman was clearly not human, or at least not fully human. She wore no clothing, and her entire body looked to be covered in tiny yellow-golden scales, while short webbing started at her elbows and continued to her webbed hands. Her legs were large and muscular, the toes ending in tiny claws instead of nails. Her black hair was thick and short, standing straight up. And then there were her large, reptilian violet eyes.
A weredragon, those elusive and rare people, considered by most to be a legend. Athanaric had no idea how old she was, and apparently after a while Haakon had stopped keeping track. He guessed at least a century from her mannerisms and speech, but she looked barely older than 30 or 40. She stared down at him the way he would look down upon an unruly child.
"The soldiers are whispering that you have fled. You should return if only for your reputation."
"I have nothing left to uphold." The mage looked back across the waters; all the better for not seeing Haakon's reaction to the statement.
"Nothing?" Confused distaste coloured the weredragon's tone. "You are a Master. You have much to maintain. You have honour--"
"I lost my honour decades ago."
"Why, because you killed some other humans?" Haakon snorted; Athanaric winced at her blunt, unemotional tone. "Most humans kill each other. It's normal."
"Just because it seems normal doesn't make it right." They had this debate at least once a week, it seemed, and each time it brewed fire in his soul. He turned to face the weredragon head-on, meeting her bright eyes with his own -- ice
blue, an instant indication of his powers. "We should be above it."
"Is a wolf above killing other wolves?"
I like how Athanaric is totally chill about a naked dragon-woman next to him. I can only imagine she struts around totally nude very frequently, which makes sense since she tends to change forms often.
And while I didn't get much writing done, I DID make butterscotch brownies, so that's good enough, I guess.
Tschuess.
Edit - I've decided that "wroke" clearly means it's been a while since I woke a character up by writing her. Haakon is pissed she missed her nap, dammit.
Even so, here's what I worked on. It's a continuation of the Athanaric story; I'll be editing that post since it's linked from
dailyprompt.Behind him came the sound of wings, then clawed feet stepping down onto the sand. He knew who it was, and continued to stare out at the sea, though his so-called charge had long ago been lost beneath the sun-lit waves. The footsteps that approached him were the soft falls of a human, and soon in his peripheral vision he saw an impossibly-tall woman whose skin glittered faintly in the light.
"You have been gone long, Master." Her voice had an ancient, extinct accent -- he knew of no one else who held it, a walking relic of another century. She glanced over at him and he could feel the burning of her gaze. "He has joined the merfolk. You should come back before the sun sets."
The woman was clearly not human, or at least not fully human. She wore no clothing, and her entire body looked to be covered in tiny yellow-golden scales, while short webbing started at her elbows and continued to her webbed hands. Her legs were large and muscular, the toes ending in tiny claws instead of nails. Her black hair was thick and short, standing straight up. And then there were her large, reptilian violet eyes.
A weredragon, those elusive and rare people, considered by most to be a legend. Athanaric had no idea how old she was, and apparently after a while Haakon had stopped keeping track. He guessed at least a century from her mannerisms and speech, but she looked barely older than 30 or 40. She stared down at him the way he would look down upon an unruly child.
"The soldiers are whispering that you have fled. You should return if only for your reputation."
"I have nothing left to uphold." The mage looked back across the waters; all the better for not seeing Haakon's reaction to the statement.
"Nothing?" Confused distaste coloured the weredragon's tone. "You are a Master. You have much to maintain. You have honour--"
"I lost my honour decades ago."
"Why, because you killed some other humans?" Haakon snorted; Athanaric winced at her blunt, unemotional tone. "Most humans kill each other. It's normal."
"Just because it seems normal doesn't make it right." They had this debate at least once a week, it seemed, and each time it brewed fire in his soul. He turned to face the weredragon head-on, meeting her bright eyes with his own -- ice
blue, an instant indication of his powers. "We should be above it."
"Is a wolf above killing other wolves?"
I like how Athanaric is totally chill about a naked dragon-woman next to him. I can only imagine she struts around totally nude very frequently, which makes sense since she tends to change forms often.
And while I didn't get much writing done, I DID make butterscotch brownies, so that's good enough, I guess.
Tschuess.
Edit - I've decided that "wroke" clearly means it's been a while since I woke a character up by writing her. Haakon is pissed she missed her nap, dammit.