MERRY a day late CHRISTMAS!

 *Jack stumbles in while balancing a plate of cookies which she somehow manages not to spill into the fire.* TADA! *She sets them on the table* That is talent for me!

 I'm here for a few reasons. One is to share the cookies, which I didn't make - good news for all of you - the other is to wish you all a Merry Little Christmas. And the third is to share my short, Christmas story! And that is all!

 The airship drifted lazily through the thick clouds. Snow drifted past the window, large flakes which made the world appear warmer then it actually was. Inside, though, the disillusion was easy to believe. Heat drifted through every inch of the Zeppelin, filling the Piloting Deck with warmth, which was made hot by the added heat of the packed bodies inside.

Balancing on chairs, Peter and Darcy were trying to hang up garland while Tony and Steed held to the chairs in the hopes that they wouldn't tip. At the wheel, Kirk leaned, pretending to steer though really he was just trying to keep awake. Peter saw him, from time to time, yawning so wide it looked as if his jaws were about to unhinge.

“Hey!” Darcy suddenly snapped when Peter again got distracted by Kirk's yawn. His eyes almost disappeared. “Watch it! You're going to get both our necks broken!”

Peter turned back to look at Darcy. He held one end of the garland, Darcy holding to the other and trying to hang it over the window at the same time. Nails were sticking in the tail end of his shirt and he clenched a hammer as if he planned to kill someone with it. (Peter wouldn't have put the hammer killing past him.)

“I'm holding the branches, just like you said,” Peter muttered. His arms were getting tired from holding to the long, prickly boroughs and he had pine needles stuck in his hair.

“Are you complaining, Pete?” Tony asked. He looked up, loosening his grip just a little on Darcy's chair. Peter was waiting for Tony to purposely tip Darcy over. How he had ended up holding his chair and Steed holding Peter's was beyond him.

“No,” Peter murmured. He didn't meet his friend's eye, just concentrated on keeping a firm hold on the garland.

“Good,” Steed muttered from the back of the chair, “because it is almost Christmas and it was your idea to string branches all over my airship.”

“It was Darcy's idea just as much as mine,” Peter pointed out.

Darcy said nothing, just stretched, balancing on tip toe as he tried to get the last of his end of the garland up into corner above the window. He was an inch too short to reach but refused to give up. Peter watched silently as he fought to keep upright, his tongue sticking out of one side of his mouth as he concentrated.

“Would you like me to do that for you?” Steed asked lazily.

“No,” Darcy grunted.

Tony shifted his feet and Steed glared at him, so Tony glared back. Peter dropped his arms just a little, which were getting sore from holding the branches up, and Kirk choice that moment to snap awake. Only he did more then that. He came out of his light doze fighting and spun the wheel so hard all those not attached to something dived head first into something else.

In the Piloting Deck, the chairs slid across the floor, out of Steed and Tony's grasps who were thrown to the ground. Peter fought to keep his balance but it was a lost cause when Darcy lost his and crashed into him. Both flew off the chairs and hit the floor, garland crashing down on top of them. The hammer flew out of Darcy's hand, coming dangerously close to smashing the window.

When Kirk managed to right the airship, Darcy and Peter crawled out from under each other and the mass of pine branches which were pricking through their shirts. Peter pushed himself to his feet and tried to brush some of the pine needles from his hair. Darcy was covered in green. The needles stuck upright in his hair and he had many poking in his clothing. He looked like a hedgehog.

“What are you trying to do, kill us?” Steed snapped as he too got to his feet. He glared hard at his yawning Pilot.

“Not intentionally,” Kirk murmured around another wide yawn. “I kind of fell asleep.”

“Really?” Darcy plucked pine needles from his shirt. “I never would have guessed.”

Peter silently examined the window. In their fall, he and Darcy had managed to pull down most of the garland. Bits of green were still up, where the nails held them in place, but most of the branches lay on the floor in a sorry state. Darcy eyed the slaughtered mess and rolled his eyes.

“Now we need more garland,” he muttered, scowling sideways at Kirk.

Kirk bit back another yawn. “We can get a tree when we land this time,” he pointed out.

Talking of a tree made Peter grin. He couldn't help but think of the tree he, Tony, Hannah, and O'Brien had put up last Christmas. Hopefully this time the tree gathering would cause less injuries.

His eyes drifted down to the battlefield of garland, then up to Darcy. On second thought, he figured he should prepare for an even bigger disaster.

***

Despite Peter's doubts and fears, chopping the tree down didn't land anyone in the medical room. They even got it safely on board, hung up the garland, strung popcorn, and lit the candles without anymore crashes.

As Peter and Tony draped the last of the popcorn strands about the tree's branches, Peter felt the same stab of doubt hit him. Should he be celebrating Christmas on board the Air Pirate Zeppelin? Surely this broke every rule in the book and sealed his fate as a traitor. Yet, he had celebrated Jesus' birth every Christmas for as long as he could remember. To skip a year of remembering the day his Savior had come to earth, the day He gave up His throne in Heaven to live as a man, didn't seem right.

That was how Peter Jones, former Aeropilot from the Scottish Royal Air Force, came to be lighting candles in the Piloting Deck on Christmas Eve. Tony was with him, as well as Darcy, Steed, Kirk, Alfie, and many of the other men. The cook had outdone himself and somehow managed to bake cookies which weren't as hard as rocks and black. The smell of hot chocolate filled the room as Darcy and Peter stuck the last of the candles into the tree.

“Don't catch it on fire, Jones,” Darcy warned.

Peering through the branches, Peter saw he was smirking. Darcy Steed was actually being nice to him. Peter smirked back, wondering how long it would last.

“I'll wait till after Christmas to blow us up,” he promised.

“Wouldn't put it past you,” Darcy replied.

Peter wished he could understand Darcy. Most of the time he acted as if he'd like nothing more then to take his head off with the sword he wore at his belt. Yet, when Peter was least expecting it, Darcy would show him kindness. Sometimes Peter wished they could be friends, other times he wished he could find one of Kirk's hiding places.

“Aren't you going to come and have some of the cookies?” Darcy asked. He moved from out behind the tree and picked wax off the shirt of his sleeve.

Sticking the last of his candles into its hold, Peter rubbed sap off of his hands while he nodded his head. “I'm right behind you,” he reassured.

Darcy strutted off and Peter trailed behind, glancing at the men around him. He decided it wouldn't hurt things if he, for one night at least, allowed himself to think of the pirates as friends.

Christmas Party - Inklings Style!

Hey you writing and reading buds!

To the Old Inklings, you should remember how these parties work! And to those who are new to the whole virtual partying Inklings style, it's time you find out! It starts with inviting mad aspiring authors and them inviting their characters/alter-egos (you won't find my alter-egos in this party. Inklings, remember Christy and Patience? They have returned to their proper place)! Bring a sword, a cloak, your imaginative sharpened mind, a special character you wish to introduce, and just have fun! The only things that I will ask you NOT to bring are a tazer and handcuffs! We will be chatting on a chatango box -- Inklings remember the chocolate box? I most certainly shall make one for this! -- The party will be at 6-8pm EST (5-7pm CST) on December 28th! I hope you can join and the only rules I will have on this chat will be: 1. No curse words 2. Be considerate of one another 3. HAVE FUN!

Note: Remember to bring some Christmas songs, and maybe some links to your Christmas writings! :-D

The Swashbuckler Disciple,

Arianna Schaffer/Mari J. Fahel

Songs from the Heart

A few of you know of my fascination of music and songs. If you know that, you should also know that I strive to write songs of my own. This is my latest shot at a song, I titled it The Cries of a Million Hearts! I hope you enjoy it!

V1: 
I lie here fully conscious
And yet the slumber drones on
In the suffocating depths, I hear
The cries of a million hearts

V2:
I lie here pierced by the darkness
While the bloodstained marks take form
Death, oh sweet death take hold of my soul
And join the cries of a million hearts

Chorus:
My child, don't you see?
I have you here right next to Me
Your heart is in the palm of My hands
And your tears like a sea
Are in My thoughts
Oh, what you could be
If you just allow me....
To wipe those tears from your eyes!
(My love has no disguise!)

V3:
I cry here fully aware
Of my faults that I am to bear
I throw my body in despair
To take on the cries of a million hearts

Bridge:
I am pulled out from the darkness
Into the light
My eyes are set on Christ in all His might
He takes me in and I lose sight
Of the agony in this small heart
To bring to Christ
Those million weeping hearts

Your fully blood bound sister-in-Christ,
Arianna Schaffer/Mari J. fahel

"I ask for a savior and what do I get? Captain Tall-and-Gangly!"

I wrote another piece in the story and it'll be posted in Wattpad at 8pm EST! Look for it here!

In the fort Jeniah saw Captain MacNell carrying a wrapped form in his arms, running towards the cabin. Jeniah kicked the stool from under Jat who sat, lazing back. He fell to the ground and glared up at Jeniah who nodded towards Willai’s hurrying figure. Jat hastened to stand up and helped lay the wrapped form on the bed. Willai breathed heavily as he stared into Jeniah’s eyes in concern.

“Where’s Morwynne?” Jeniah heard the hint of dread in her own voice when she spoke.

Willai seemed to hear the edge in her voice too so he looked down at Jeniah, “She’s--”

A loud clatter from behind the two of them alerted them of another, as Willai turned to face Morwynne picking up the mop and bucket that she tripped over, “She’s here.”

Morwynne lay the mop gently on the wall as it slid off and clattered to the floor again. She left it there and went to help Jeniah with the new patient. Jeniah unwrapped the cloak to reveal the sliced body which oozed blood and shadows. Morwynne stooped to touch it when the sound of a clearing throat, alerted her of Willai’s rising temper.

"If you would, Morwynne Aari Gael, follow me to my quarters,” Willai’s cool tone aired a sign of caution for Morwynne who bit her lower lip and looked, pleadingly at Jat and Jeniah as Willai stepped out the door. Jeniah shook her head, solemnly as Jat grinned widely and shrugged. Morwynne’s head lowered in shame as she turned and followed the Captain, as if marching to the death.

I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me who your favorite character from this snippet is or if none, tell me your favorite quote in it!

Preferring to look insane,
Mari J. Fahel

Why, hello there! Mischief, Loyalty, a wee bit of Ari has returned!

Hey, guys! I've been writing a story called The Witches' Assassin! It has characters based on people/beliefs that I've had in my life! Be prepared for a ride with adventure, fantasy, truth, romance, drama, and humor! Expecting the unexpected isn't what it's about, but the world isn't all as it seems!

Melody twisted in the shadows, suffocating. Cold and afraid she cried, “Traitor! Let me go! Let me free! Let me be!”

Tears streamed down her face and she tried to reach out of the shadows, “Help me! Please! Mercy!”

Suddenly a shout of victory echoed as if in a far off land and light pierced the darkness like a blade forged in the Heavenly Kingdom. A sweet song of a marching army, marching on to the victorious beats of love rang all around her and became nearer and closer as the light grew brighter. Two hands pulled her out of the shadows as she fell into the embrace of a warm cloak. Honey-brown curls cascaded into Melody’s face as deep sea-green eyes delved into hers.

“In the name of Jeshua, you will depart from these parts, Sorion!” a firm voice of one with authority spoke in the blurred forest. A scream of agony as Sorion sounded his retreat.

Melody’s body, exerted and in agony slumped onto the girl’s shoulder, as her weight started sliding to the ground. Blackness engulfed her vision once more and she saw no more.

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Give me critique! TIPS! TIPS! TIIIIIIPS! :-D

Preferring to look insane,
Mari J. Fahel

Christmas!

 So, it has been decided, fellow Inklings! 

 Over the next week or so, write a short Christmas story to share with everyone else on here. We shall have an Inklings Christmas! (Sorry, that is corney, but I'm worn out.)

 Even if your story isn't ready before Christmas you can share it afterward. 

 I'm eager to read all your stories!

 Jack

Christmas Stories!

 In honour of Christmas I have given us a more Christmasy look. I tried to get a hold of Mari to see if she would mind, but was unable to. So, if you do, I am very sorry. *Looks Sheepish* We can change it back later if you would like.

 But this is more then a post about the new template. This is also to ask, how many would like to take part in a short story Christmas contest? (I don't know what the winner would win, or if we should even have a winner...)

 Anyhow, how does this idea appeal to everyone? 

 Everyone write an one page Christmas story that we can all share on here by the 21st. How does that sound? 

 Jack and her sardine, Nemo

"Tooth, fingers out of mouth."

 *Trips through the front door and barely avoids crashing head first into the fire. Turns and shoves the door closed against the howling wind. Knocks snow from cloak. Pulls off boots. Sits by the fire. Pulls gloves over feet and waves feet at everyone.*

 Greetings, one and all! It is I, Jack! Back and last! (I'm a poet and YOU did not know it!)

 *Leans closer to the fire.*

 Well, I guess I should be posting something, eh? Rather then sit here rambling. Here is something, from a short story I wrote, a prequel to my first to be published book (which will be out on the 14th, by the way.) I hope you enjoy!

 Christmas morning dawned bright and cheerful, the sun sparkling down on freshly fallen snow. As of yet, no one had stirred from their homes. All over Berlin, families were tucked inside as they opened presents, sang carols, and ate hot breakfasts. The world was quiet, which didn't bother detective Isidore Thaddeus Reichmann any. He had stayed up late Christmas Eve, writing down his last case, and now he wished to sleep in late.

Lisbeth had other plans.

He knew the persisting pounding on his door could only be she. No one else would rush to his apartment on Christmas morning, not even with a case – unless they were crabs and hated the holiday, like him. Besides that, he recognized her knock.

Isidore ignored the pounding for as long as possible. His bedroom was cold, the air nipping at his nose, and he didn't wish to leave the warmth of his thick quilt. Jumping out of bed and hurrying barefoot across the icy floor while dodging the clothing he had thrown there last night didn't sound too appeasing.

*Bows grandly.*

 Adieu, my fellow Inklings!

 Jack and her sardine, Nemo

Merry Christmas, Inklings!

Hey, everyone!  It's nice to show my face once more.  My last day of finals is tomorrow, and I am very happy about Christmas break coming up!  Thus I am taking a pre-break break and posting this for you all.
Here are a couple of snippets from my latest venture, The Dragon Bstirvm.

Usually I sat in the corner of the smithy and watched Father work as I sewed or knitted.  There was always a good deal of sewing and knitting to be done, and as I was not particularly adventurous, I felt that there was no need to go out and roam the city streets with my other brothers and sisters. 

Father always said that I was a shadow, a slight thing that nobody noticed.  He did not particularly favor me above the other children, nor did he ever seem to notice that I spent hours in the corner of the dark, low room where he worked.

In fact, I was fascinated by fire.  It almost hypnotized me.  Never could I see a flame but it drew me to itself, beckoned me with its lurid flicker, and grasped at my mind with glowing fingers.  The smithy fire altered the whole dark cellar, turning it into some pit of enchantment from which I could hardly bear to tear myself.

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

I should probably add that this book is told from the perspective of Majay Mistrocoli, who lives in the royal city of Rusa.

My king’s name was King Edwin XIII.  I know not why that name survived for thirteen generations.  I would have extinguished it long ere the first.  Yet that was his name, and, let us be frank, he was rather mediocre as kings go.  I am not fond of speaking so of my leader, but the truth is the truth.  King Edwin was quite a disappointment, especially since his father had been a wise and generous king, beloved by all of his people for his benevolence and understanding.  King Edwin was not particularly cruel, as kings go, and Charantè had certainly seen baser monarchs in the course of its long existence, but he did make many foolish decisions.  For instance, he always tried to please everybody. 

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

I reached the tavern and had to step over a man slumbering in the doorway, the smell of strong ale emanating from his damp garments in a thick, choking reek.  I pressed my hand over my mouth and clutched the spits tightly under my other arm.  The sights and sounds from inside the tavern oppressed my senses.  A raucous song reverberated from the low ceiling, and men laughed and jostled each other as they swayed drunkenly to the music.  I wished that my older brothers were still living at home so that I would not have had to come to this place.  It was rather unfortunate that every last one of them was wed.

            The proprietor of the tavern leaned over the counter and leered at me.  I saw not a greasy, doughy man but an ogre preparing to leap among the rioters and devour them up.  Trembling, I held out the spits to him.

            “Mistrocoli made these for you as ordered,” I said.

            The man did not snarl at me as I half-expected him to do.  Instead he waddled out from behind the counter and took the spits from me.

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

Thanks for reading and God bless,

Kathryn

Awh, poor wee abandonned blog!

REVIVE! I will not see you perish, Inklings! REVIVE! I've been on you since I was almost 15! You can't die now! I will not allow it! **looks offended at the slowly moving blogposts** I see at least some of us is faithful to the end! Well, I know that you guys came to hear more than a madwoman ranting on how her favorite writing group shouldn't be dying...

Well, I actually came to do more than that, anyway! I have been inspired to write a series of time traveling stories called "Sunset Pilgrim Saga"! It is about how a girl steps through the sunset into time and imagined worlds! It all starts on December 21st, 2012, the time when most people believe the world is to end. However, the only thing that happened that day was that one person could step into the sunset and go through time or imagined worlds! But, if she is to die in either one of these areas, she's pretty much dead, even in the world of imagination! But, in the story she must find out when this sunset comes back, these sunsets are known only to the Time Masters and can only be found at a certain date in a certain place at the hour the sun sets. And sometimes the journey to the place is far and long, but she must get there on time, or she will not be able to go to the next place and time to find her home.

I hope that interests you guys! God bless and peace, folks!

opening excerpt of Shadows of Fire

Many apologies, dear friends, I've been awfully busy with college and writing and such. As an atonement, here's a little piece of what I've been working on. The full chapter is now available on Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/user/TheGaelicGuardian

Enjoy!

Once, the house could have been described as beautiful. Artistic, even. Before the accident had occurred, it clearly was one of the crown jewels of the neighborhood. Perhaps, in better days, it would have played host to shared lemonade amongst neighbors on its broad porch, watching the neighborhood kids play on the front lawn. Now, however, the place was a wreck.

Its white-paneled walls now were crumbled to rubble, streaked with ash and the rough red bricks now exposed. Only two battered stumps remained of the twin white columns that guarded the porch. The entire second floor was gone, leaving only the empty shell of the house’s walls, and a few charred remnants of the first floor. A badly burned book lying near the shattered hole in the wall that once was a window, near an almost unidentifiable lump that once was an armchair. A table leg, bold and battered, amidst a pile of collapsed ceiling tiles, almost like a shrine to its tenacity. However, despite the desolation of the ruins, there was still life present.

Crouching amidst the rubble, digging through the ashes was a young man. His cracked leather overcoat pooled at his feet, fanning out like a cape. Slung across his back was a broad, round shield, strips of steel reinforcing the body in a starburst pattern. His shaggy, rust-red hair was bound up in a pony-tail, covered up with a battered leather cowboy hat. Beneath the brim, stormy blue eyes glinted, and a determined expression on his face encompassed by a roughly-trimmed goatee and bushy sideburns. He looked young on the outside, but in his eyes, he was ancient with experience and hardship.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for, as he sat back on his heels, and pulled a burned, battered helmet from the wreckage. It was painted a faded fire-engine red, its cheek plates and T-slit visor delicately etched with silver Celtic knot-work. Across the dome, a Chinese dragon was emblazoned in gold, arching and looping in an endless weave. In the back, the aeration vent was battered and scratched, like the faceplate, but still mostly functional. The man handled the helmet with care and ease, as though he was quite familiar with it.

His lips wrinkled into a grim frown as he lifted it up, looking into its empty visor as though it held all the knowledge in the world. Suddenly, something imperceptible shifted, as though the world suddenly was holding its breath in anticipation. The man put down the helmet slowly, hesitantly, as though it were made of glass. Without looking back, he stood to his feet, with a soft clatter of concealed armor plates, and spoke.

“Hello Cassandra.”