III: Anger

The boy arrived at the Academy on a cart drawn by a tamed shrew - scaled beasts of burden with a curved spine and stubby legs. A sullen, square-framed citizen and his son had noticed him en route, and recognised him as one of the adventurers from class. Exhausted from running, he had accepted their charity, though the gesture seemed to be out of obligation, and the ride with them unnaturally hostile.

As they arrived at the gate to the school grounds, the man ushered him toward the Grand Professor. Mutterings and looks were exchanged between the two, with something said of routine giving a sense of normality. The Grand Professor reached his arm around the boy, tilted his head sideways and forced his cheekbones upwards, straining a smile. The boy took the opportunity to reach in his pocket, and presented the Grand Professor with the pieces of needle - eyes hopeful for answers. The man nodded once, resting his other arm atop the boy's shoulder and pushed forward, leading him toward a string of interconnected classrooms.

He recognised the craft chambers immediately, peeking through the amber windowframes as he passed. The tinkerers were feverishly fusing ingot against ingot; the armour class clanged wood to metal frame; the alchemy teacher held a frog precariously over a cauldron; and the haranguing hums of sychronised machinery from the tapestry class hurt his ears. From the door, the Grand Professor gestured toward the old hag lording over the tapestry students, pointing her toward the boy. Unceremoniously shoved into the room, he unfurled the cloth bindle holding the pieces in one place.

The wrinkled, wart-laden crone unfurled her lips in thinly guised contempt, pursing them against her teeth. She gestured for the class to halt.

"This was your fault, wasn't it?"

Taken aback, he loudly bellowed: "No! Everything was like that when I found it! How am I responsible?!".

As the witch prepared adequate retort, he noticed something shining atop her desk. A needle! Not one, but a whole leather pouch of them! The boy's arm lurched for cache, with the woman slapping his hand away as he got within reach.

Nursing his stinging hand against his lips, he thrust his head toward the hag and yelled: "I need those! You don't understand! The machine is broken and I can fix it and then find-"

"NO! They are MINE!" she hissed in competition, her chin arched out, eyes glaring down her textured nose. The boy darted forward with his other hand, unrepentant and unwilling to take no for an answer. The harpy intercepted him, slamming his arm against the wooden frame of the desk and the pouch of needles, the fine bones crunching in his hand.

The pain gave way to clarity. Hearing the blood pulsate through his head, the boy reached to his side, where the Swen hummed in place of the class machines.

One.
Two.

He plunged the tip of the blade against her arm twice, the skin blistering and bursting in a torrent of black and red. She shreiked an inhuman cry, arm releasing the boy just long enough for him to snatch the satchel, pushing past the Grand Professor and out the classroom door toward home.

II: Denial

The boy did not skip a beat. Scanning the throne room for but a second, he stealthed forward slowly, arching his back to waist-height as he drew close. He ran his hand across the velvety crimson curtains that triumphed tall and strong over the otherwise empty space, clasping a ream in his hand before pulling it back and... 

"Boo!"

His words echoed against a vacant wall. Unphased and with gusto, he rushed towards a grand armoire nearby. Pressing his ear against the smooth frame, his lips curled into a grin and his eyes glowed with a mischievious glint. Tugging the doors flung open, his expression fell flat and mutated to disbelief. The Princess, observing all this with a sneer, piped up with her chest held out.

"What are you doing, stupid?"

She always looked ugly when she pulled that face, her nose crunched and withdrawn into her brow.  "I'm looking for her! We always played these games, back when-" 

"Back when you were stupid, stupid?" Ugh. With a flippant wave of her wrist, it was like a spell washed over him. His patience was eroded immediately and he snapped back.

"I am doing more than you did, imp! Where were you?! You should know where she went!"

His accusatory tone was not met kindly. The Princess puffed her face out, flush with incense, rotated the ninety degrees toward the nearest chamber and disappeared behind the doorframe with a harumph. Not wanting to indulge her, and desperate to make sense of the situation, he rushed after her.

The magick chamber.

Screes of shimmering silks and satins filled the room, occupying every inch of visual space. Arcing his head around, he saw a room bereft of the Princess, until his eyes set on the centre of the room. A glorious glowing contraption: a metal arm, not unlike his own, with a needle pincered between iron forefinger and thumb, so sharp it could rival his Swen. This was where the Queen spent so much of her time. When not preoccupied with royal visitors, the Queen thread together magnificent attire, the needle laced with special magick which gave each piece a unique enchantment. His own cape afforded him invisibility - maybe she had fashioned something similar?

Moving closer to inspect the metal centrepiece, he noticed something amiss. There the needle lay lifeless against the floor, shattered in three. His eyes darted left to right, rapidly mimicking his thoughts.Yes! If only he could find a replacement, he could make a pair of goggles, or a special seeing-hat - then he could find her!

The Academy would know. Given the Princess was likely playing her trademark hiding game, (it was, after all, how she won her way all the time), he thought it prudent to let her cool off while he enquired further with the local Professors. Without delay, he scooped up the needle's remnants and rushed toward the Academy as fast as his little feet would carry him.

I: Preface

"The pen is mightier than the sword", he was once told.

Such a silly concept, he thought, he challenged the Queen on her words - very bold for a boy of his stature, though one that would be rewarded in time. Her Kingdom was vast, and the citizens came in all shapes: short and rotund, tall and svelte, freckled and speckled, and pretty and fair. They had long, pointed ears held tight to their head, and beautiful opaque wings that seemed to absorb the sunlight and shimmer with abundance. They all stood leaning slightly forward, as if curious as to what the space around them had to say - different from him, he pondered, but different was what he wanted. The Queen was also different, towering tall relative to her thralls, with a kind and gentle warmth radiating wherever she set foot. A warmth that was sadly not inherited by the snot-nosed Princess, with her big, dumb ears and mean, snarky demeanour.

---

The Pord. Or the Swen. He could never decide what to call it. It was a reward from her for his hard work at the Academy - getting top of the class and even scaring off his first goblin. "It's a pen and a sword. See? This button reveals the magic hilt." He remembered the metallic whirr it made, and the ornate trim replete with golden curls. It was his favourite thing.

When the call from the castle rung out, the boy was roused from his class at the Academy. Why would the royal guard be in attendance? Why did they need him? For all his confusion, he didn't think to ask any questions. He just held on to the stoic guards tight as they flew him to his audience. When he arrived, the guards emptied out from the chamber, leaving the boy alone.

Moments passed before a crack and a slam eminated from the ballistae fort doors, where the Princess burst forth with her usual lack of grace. As she bumbled toward him, one foot turned in to the other, she lurched up and and it hit him. The words paled in comparison to the Princess' harrowed visage.

"I'm sad."
"I can't find my mother, she's all I've had".

Punctuating with a genuine sincerity he had not seen from her, the boy cast off his preconceptions. Leaning down to hold her hands in his, he smiled.

"Little Princess, together you and I, we'll search across the skies."
"Little Princess, there's no need to grieve, I will never leave."

---

Hey guys, if you want to help me figure out what I should write first, I'd appreciate your input. Have a read of the concepts below, and if you'd like, vote in the poll. You can select multiple stories if you can't decide. :)


Ideas that I want to flesh out:

- A disposable society, using lifestyle housing & suburbia as a base and its aged "out of a box" houses as an artefact. A future where most every level of need is met thanks to technology, yet every human is in a race to distance themselves from their nature. Every human escapes their mortal coil, but at the cost of something central to themselves.

- The struggles of an elder sister and a younger brother in a purgatory-like environment. Focus on the enduring relationship of the two against an invisible tormentor in a world that is difficult to comprehend. All character flaws and insecurites comes to the fore and is displayed raw. Laden with pathos.

- A boy in a world of the fae. All of his real life problems are translated to fantasy equivalents. As he ages, the problems begin to be more severe, and the fairies fail to comprehend and fear him. The fairies are an allegory for youth, as always. A world of wonder and intrigue he will eventually become blind to, or turn his back on.

So this blog thing, huh? I am going to use this as a platform to write. People keep telling me to, despite my insistence that I am not cut out for such things. What form my writing will take depends on the individual post - short story, scripts, limericks and critiques. Creative predominantly, though some editorial or satirical writing will no doubt find its way in here. I will endeavour to keep it small, too, so that it doesn't become too daunting.

This is for myself. I am writing for my own entertainment. It'll probably be strange and disjointed, and always erratically updated. Sorry in advance.