Friday, 30 September 2016

Artel - Green Light and Long Tunnels

Artel was lead out of the hole and along a dark, earthy tunnel that seemed to go on forever. His companions didn't move very fast, they seemed to sort of waddle, and Artel had to stoop to avoid banging his head on the low ceiling. The tunnel was illuminated by dim green lanterns that hung from the sides of the walls every ten paces or so. They walked for what felt like hours, and Artel made good use of the time, watching his captors out the corners of his eyes, trying to pick out their weaknesses, work out where they were vulnerable.
Their pale skin looked rough and thick, and he guessed it would take a lot of force to push a blade through it, even their wiry white hair looked as if it would be hard to break. Their blindness, of course, was a weakness, but they made up for it with their superior hearing, something that would make it difficult for him to surprise them in any way. The ears of course, large, slightly pointed, and protruding almost comically from much higher up the sides of their heads that Artel's own, were a weakness. They looked delicate, pale and thin with slim veins running through them like you might see in a leaf. If he could manage to get his sword he could go for their ears, that would both pain and disarm them, they would useless if they couldn't see or hear and he'd be able to make his escape. But then where would he go? As they moved further down the tunnel he had begun to notice more and more tunnels leading off of this main one, and once or twice he had even glimpsed more of the strange creatures peering out at him. The place reminded him of a rabbit warren, and he was sure that even if he did escape he could end up spending days wandering through the tunnels, unable to find his way out. He would wander until he starved and died in one these tunnels. The thought made him shiver and, sensing his movement, the creature next to him turned, as if to look at him, as if to fix him with its milky eyes.
They walked on, until Artel's back began to ache from stooping to avoid the ceiling. The tunnel itself twisted and turned, first this way and then that, and at times it seemed to loop back on itself. At some point they left that tunnel and entered another, a few minutes later they switched to another. At some point he sensed they were moving uphill, but somehow he doubted they were taking him to the surface to be released.The tunnels leading off of theirs grew more frequent and he guessed they were nearing the centre of the 'warren'. He saw more of the creatures, all of them stopped and turned to face him when his small procession came past, as if they were looking at him, watching him. He wondered how blind they really were.
At last they reached the end of the tunnel, well, it wasn't an end as such, it was more a huge cavernous room, dimly lit with faint green light from many torches set into the walls. Again Artel wondered how blind the creatures really were, if they were completely blind surely the torches wouldn't be there at all. The question fell from his mind as his small procession walked into the room and he realised the floor on either side of him had completely fallen away. He leaned over slightly to peer over the edge and felt a wave of vertigo wash over him as he looked down into the abyss below. Other pathways crossed through the space below him and there were torches in the walls all the way down, down as far as he could see anyway. He straightened up, hating the vertigo feeling, and looked above him. It was the same picture as below, pathways stretched across the space, which stretched upwards, dimly illuminated with green light, as far as he could see. The enormity of the place hit him then, like a cold slap in the face. He had imagined the creatures were pretty harmless, he had pictured a few of them, easy to overcome. He had thought he might escape, might get out of this underground warren and find his way back to Millon and his quest... if Millon was even still alive. But this was bigger than he ever could have imagined. This wasn't a small colony of ants he could simply run away from, and this underground home was much more than that, it was a city, a metropolis beneath the forest. He couldn't begin to guess how long it went on for, or how deep he was underground, even with a map he would have a hard time finding his way out. One of the creatures prodded him in the back and he realised he had stopped walking. He jumped and carried on, following the creature in front of him across the walkway towards the centre of the room, where he could now see a wide, circular platform, upon which was a round table, around which sat several more the the creatures. It looked like they were debating something, but as Artel and his captors drew closer they quieted and turned to look.
They stopped at the edge of the platform and silence fell, then the creature in front of him stepped forward and addressed those around the table, there were 9 in total, in its strange grunting language. Whatever it said caused a chatter of grunts and vowels around the table, which quietened again a moment later as one of them began speaking in earnest. Artel watched the proceedings with a certain sense of comedy. It was almost laughable, looking at the weird little beings, their ears waggling as they made unidentifiable grunting noises at each other.
Eventually silence fell again and one of the seated creatures turned to look at Artel, if look was what it really did.
"Big thing fall down tunnel yes?"
Artel cleared his throat. "Yes."
"Ah, big thing lost in forest?"
"Yes, trying to get through actually, my friend and I are on a... a journey."
The creature nodded its head sagely, its overlarge ears waggling slightly.
"Big thing will go nowhere, will stay with Varra, as ours."
"What?" The alarm in Artel's voice made him loud and he saw the creatures closet to him wince.
"Big thing hear, too loud, big thing will stay."
Before he could reply he felt something hit him in the back of the head and the world went black, the strange grunting language fading into the darkness as he lost consciousness.

Thursday, 29 September 2016

Book Review - Revival

Book Review - Revival
By Stephen King

'In one way, at least, our lives really are like movies. The main cast consists of your family and friends. The supporting cast is made up of neighbours, co-workers, teachers and daily acquaintances... But sometimes a person who fits none of these categories comes into your life...

In a small New England town, in the early 60's, a shadow falls over a small boy playing with his toy soldiers. Jamie Morton looks up to see a striking man, the new minister, Charles Jacobs. Soon they forge a deep bond, based on their fascination with simple experiments in electricity. 

Decades later, Jamie is living a nomadic lifestyle of bar-band rock and roll when he sees Jacobs again. Their meeting has profound consequences for both men. Their bond becomes a pact beyond even the Devil's devising and Jamie discovers that revival has many meanings.'

My mum leant me this book - she's been lending me books ever since I learnt how to read - and I am so glad she did. This was a fabulous read, a thoroughly enjoyable story with an ending that completely blew me away. I think the two things I loved most about this book were; how real I felt the main character was, I really felt as if Jamie Morton could walk into a bar and sit next to me and everything about him would be as real as anyone else in there, and, that whilst reading this book I was completely stumped about where it was going or what was going to happen at the end, but I was totally unable to put it down. 
If you haven't already... read this book!

The Writing - Revival is, of course, expertly written, you couldn't expect anything less from Stephen King really. The story is written in the first person from the perspective of the main character, Jamie Morton, and in the style of his life story. As you read through the book Jamie narrates his life to you, the events, and how he feels about them, and you begin to feel as if you really know him, he is a true multi-faceted human being and you are sharing in his life. It's easy to read, the sentence structure is well varied and the flow is excellent, leading you smoothly from chapter to chapter before you've even realised you should have stopped reading several hours ago. It's fast paced enough that your captured by it and know there'll be something exciting just around the next page, but slow enough that it keeps you guessing, and wanting more. King expertly builds suspense throughout the book, there is an undertone of it that you pick up on early on and that snowballs, slowly, throughout the book so that you, as the reader, know that something is going to happen, and you know it's probably not going to be good. Dialogue between the characters is well written, their conversations are interesting and to the point, and help to build on the characters personalities, giving the reader an insight into who they are and how they think. 

The Plot - I hate spoilers, and because this book has so much mystery right up until the end I would hate to spoil it for someone who hasn't read it yet, so no spoilers. The plot of this book is brilliantly crafted, utterly unique, weird, exciting, dark and a little scary. As I have mentioned before, King spends the majority of the book leading you through Jamie Morton's life, all the way from early childhood to late adulthood, throughout which he inserts odd events and strange occurrences that confer with the undertone of suspense and uncertainty that has been slowly building since the beginning. Yet he doesn't give much away about what really is going to happen at the end, although now I know and look back over the book I can put the pieces together, but as a first time reader, I didn't have a clue. The story builds for just over three quarters of the book, and it is a fascinating story in itself, the ending then is like a big bang or an explosion, like the pull of two magnets that have been slowly moving closer and have suddenly snapped together. It's fast, it's crazy, it's weird, and it's both totally captivating, and totally unique. And yes, it left me feeling unnerved and I pondered on it for days. 

The Characters - As I have mentioned before Revival is narrated in first person from the perspective of Jamie Morton, the main character. Jamie is so well written that by the end you feel as if you know him, as if you've grown up side by side with him and if he turned up your doorway that would be fine, because he's just as real as you or me. You get to know his good bits, his bad bits, his talents, his flaws, and how he thinks and looks at the world. You experience the world in this book through his eyes, yet you also experience him. The second major character is Charles Jacobs, a man who goes through an extraordinary transformation throughout the book, one that is strange, and at at times quite startling. He is also excellently written, with a fully developed personality and traits that build and grow and change, you can understand how his mind works, how he ends up the way he does, what drives him, and how a man can be consumed. He is an incredibly interesting character because of the changes he goes through throughout the book, and again I don't want to give to much away here, but the things he experiences and his reaction to them explore a deeper, darker part of the human psyche, making him truly fascinating. Throughout the book you meet many other fascinating characters, every single one of which adds something to the story, the plot, or your understanding of the main characters. The are all inserted at just the right times and their actions, words, or deaths, build on the story and help to add to that air of suspense and uncertainty that is slowly growing throughout. 

The Independent said;
'Simply superb... classic King: intimate, readable and convincing... tastier than most bestsellers out there.'

Read this book, it is everything the Independent said, and more. If you want something exciting and different that you can get your teeth stuck into and that will leave you pondering over it for days, read this.

Wednesday, 28 September 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- Creative impulse or inspiration.
- An impelling mental force acting from within - inspiration.
- Divine communication of knowledge.

Afflatus is derived from Latin and entered English in the mid 1600's.

'Sam pushed himself onward, driven by some desire, some afflatus that he could not begin to resist or control.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word!

Tuesday, 27 September 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is a person, a place, and an emotion.
You must use the given person, place, and emotion, but it is up to you how you use them and where you take your character. Your story can be any length and any genre.

A 24 year old man, an empty train carriage, and wonder.

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Monday, 26 September 2016

Motivational Monday! Audio Arcadia's General Short Story Competition

This weeks Motivational Monday! post features Audio Arcadia's General Short Story Competition.

You'll need to think fast if you want to enter this one as the closing date is this Friday the 30th!
Don't worry if you miss it though, this is a regular competition so you'll get another chance.

Audio Arcadia
 gives writers the chance to showcase their work to a global audience and are accepting submissions in different styles and genre's as well as running this competition. They deal mainly in a audio tracks but have recently begun publishing paperbacks and e-books as well.

Image result for audio arcadiaSo, this competition is for a short story of up to 5,000 words, on any theme, and in any style, except erotica. Your story must be entirely your own work and must be typed in English.
There is a £5.50 entry fee for the first story, you may submit as many as you like but each one must be paid for separately.

The winners will have their stories published in paperback and e-book format and will each receive a royalty percentage of net monthly sales for them.

The closing date for this competition is the 30th of September 2016.
The winner will be announced on their website on the 10th of October 2016.

There is a full list of guidelines and rules for entries available to look at on their website, always remember to read the entry rules to look for formatting instructions or guidance, many competitions will not even consider your work if it's not formatted in the way that they asked for!

To read the competition rules, find out more and to enter the competition please visit Audio Arcadia's General Short Story Competition.

Happy writing

Rach x

Thursday, 22 September 2016

Wordy... Thursday!

Due to work and having to attend work courses yesterday I sadly missed my window of opportunity to put up my Wordy Wednesday post... So here's a Wordy Thursday post for you instead :) 

This weeks Wordy... Thursday word is;


- Used when referring to the voice.
- Very loud and powerful (voice).

This is another word that stems from mythology! This one comes from the name 'Stentor', who was a warrior in Greek Mythology, who was said to have a voice as powerful as fifty men. This word entered English during the 1600's.

'Grace took an involuntary step backwards at Darren's outburst. His stentorian voice hit her like a physical blow and the felt the cold fury of his anger seep through her skin, creating fireworks of fear that exploded throughout her chest.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word!

Tuesday, 20 September 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is an image.
Who is this girl? What's her story? Where's she been? What's she been through? What is making her look like this? What happens to her next?

Feeling Left Out

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Monday, 19 September 2016

Motivational Monday! Fish Publishing Short Story Contest

This weeks Motivational Monday! post features The Fish Publishing Short Story Contest.

The Fish Publishing Short Story Contest has been running since 1994 and has, over the years, become a very prestigious award, with many writers feeling that winning the competition was the stepping stone to their success as an author.

So, this competition is for a short story of up to 5,000 words, on any theme, and in any style. Your story must be entirely your own work and must never have been published or broadcast in any way.
There is a 20 euro entry fee for the first story, subsequent stories will cost 10 euro's each, you can enter as many stories as you like.

The first prize is 3,000 euros and a week long fiction writing workshop with Claire Keegan.
Second prize is a week at Anam Cara Writer's and Artists Retreat and 300 euros expenses.
Third prize is 300 euros.

The winning three stories, plus seven runners up, will all be published in the Fish Publishing 2017 Anthology.

The closing date for this competition is the 30th of November 2016.
The results of the competition will be announced on the 17th of March 2017.
The anthology will published in July 2017.

If you have had two pieces of your work published in The Fish's anthologies you may not submit a work to this competition until three years from the date of your second piece's publication.
If you are a previous winner you may enter again but you will not eligible for the first prize.
These rules are in place to give emerging writers a chance.

There is a full list of guidelines and rules for entries available to look at on their website, always remember to read the entry rules to look for formatting instructions or guidance, many competitions will not even consider your work if it's not formatted in the way that they asked for!

To read the competition rules, find out more and to enter the competition please visit The Fish Publishing Short Story Contest.

Happy writing

Rach x

Friday, 16 September 2016

Artel - What Lives Beneath

Artel didn't know how long he sat for, alone in the darkness in the strange pit with only the watery drip, drip, drip to remind him that sound existed at all. He had tried to break the door, he had pushed it, and banged it, and ran at it, and he had injured his shoulder in the process. He had the idea of trying to use his sword as a sort of oversized lock pick, until he realised there was no lock on his side of the door. He had even made his way back over to the skeleton he had found on the floor and searched pile of bones for... for what... something... anything that might help. At last he had given up, accepting defeat as he slumped against the mud wall, tired, hungry, and although he did not like to admit it, scared. Perhaps he had dozed, he couldn't be sure, time was a whole new beast down in the darkness. It plodded by of its own accord, no longer adhering to the constraints of the normal world, it could be as fast or a slow as it wished, or it could stop altogether. Artel would never know.
It crossed his mind as he sat there that he might die in this hole, like that other poor sod whose skeleton he had found.
"How ridiculous," he muttered in the darkness, "that I, a decorated knight, should be defeated by a hole in the ground on a quest for a myth."
He thought of Millon too, the bumbling fool would be lost in the forest by now, probably eaten by some large beast, or fallen down a hole of his own. He was half surprised the smaller man hadn't jumped down the hole after him, he was always so desperate to please, always fussing over Artel like a worried mother hen. He imagined the strange little man sitting at the entrance to the hole, too afraid to jump down after him, too stupid to leave or get help or shout down. The notion played on his mind, slipping through his thoughts again and again until he became convinced Millon was indeed sat at the entrance to the hole. Artel stood and almost ran, shakily, to the point in the strange chamber where he could just about feel the slight draft of cool air coming from the ceiling. He raised his face and stared up into the darkness.
"Millon!" He called, tentatively, then louder. "Millon! Miilllooonnn... Miiilllloooonnn... Miiilllooonnn... "
His voice echoed through the empty chamber and he fell silent, listening as the sound faded into silence. There was no answer, no response, no light in the darkness. He waited for a while longer, then went back to his spot by the door in the darkness.

Time must have passed, things must have happened on the outside world. Somewhere his Queen waged a war put upon her by another, somewhere brave men fought for their lives, and for the lives of their wives and sons and daughters, somewhere a village burned, a child cried and another life was taken into slavery. Somewhere a storm raged around the tip of a faraway mountain, encircling a secret so old it may not exist at all.
Visions slipped through Artel's waking dreams, appearing before him in the darkness, so real he could almost touch them. The red-haired woman dancing by the fireside, her green eyes fixed on him, a small smile playing across her features, how he had wanted to touch her then. He remembered the smooth softness of her pale skin as he brushed his fingertips across her back, he remembered the cushion of her lips as he kissed her, and the tangle of her fire-red hair splayed out across his pillow later that night. Emerella.
The image shifted and the red-haired woman was gone, leaving as quickly as she had appeared. Towards him stalked a hunter, scantily clad in mismatched armour, the man was a joke and Artel heard his dream self laugh. He turned away from the small man, he turned away from an opponent, an armed opponent. The barbed club the hunter carried was simple, simple but effective, effective and painful. Artel watched in horror as his dream self taunted the hunter, showing off, making mistake after mistake as he sought to prove his superiority. When the hunter sprang he had been unprepared, he had fallen and failed to regain the upper hand. When the fight was ended by Starn, who shot the hunter through the skull with a black tipped arrow, Artel had been a mess, bloodied and barely conscious. It was his downfall, the final straw that saw him removed from the ranks he so proudly led, removed and sent away on a fools errand with a fool all of his own to accompany him.

The vision vanished and cold consciousness struck Artel in the face. He blinked in the darkness, looking blindly around him, sure that something had alerted his senses but unable to work out what. For a moment there was only silence, echoing through the chamber, then the clunk of a lock and the clinking of a metal chain as it was pulled through bars and then dropped to the floor. Artel was on his feet in a second, his heart beating hard and his sword in his hand, glaring into the darkness. Something pushed against the door and a muttered voice floated in from the other side, too low for him to hear, then with a creak the old doors swung open and the world went from black to white. Artel swung his sword through the air in front of him, unable to see his opponents who yelped and let out a stream of unidentifiable vowels that ricocheted through the chamber. He turned, blinking in the bright torchlight. Figures came into view as his eyes began to adjust, there were several of them and they were short, about half his height. He swung his sword again and felt something hit his arm, his hand opened reflexively and the sword fell to the ground with a clatter, then something took his legs out from under him and he landed on his back on the hard floor, the fall taking his breath away. Little hands scrabbled across his body as he fought for breath, rolling him over and binding his wrists behind his back. He struggled but they held him fast and the knots in their ropes held true. He was pushed upwards and forwards into a kneeling position, two of them held his arms, one either side and slightly behind him so he could not see them, he didn't know if they carried weapons. A third tottered forwards and to his right, heading towards the discarded sword lying on the floor. Now that he could see, Artel watched the little creature in puzzlement, it was roughly half his height and had a strange gait that was somewhere between a limp, a jump and a waddle, and white hair streamed down its back. His attention was interrupted as a fourth creature moved in front of him and began speaking, its voice rough and fast, a stream of incomprehensible vowels and grunts falling from between its thin lips. Artel stared. The creature wasn't pretty, but it wasn't really ugly either, in fact it was rather plain, albeit slightly stocky and white haired. What caught his attention most was its eyes, set in smooth papery skin they were wide and at first he thought they were grey, grey and luminous, but as he looked closer he realised that what he had mistaken for grey was in fact milky white. The creature was blind, and yet it looked straight at him, and its words were spoken directly too him. He shook his head slightly and saw the creatures ears, larger than his own, twitch. The creature paused and its nostrils flared slightly as it cocked its head, then, satisfied, it continued chattering away. When it eventually stopped speaking silence fell across the chamber again, it seemed to be waiting for something. Moments slipped past, slow and steady and pregnant, until, unable to bear it any longer, Artel cleared his throat.
"I," he began, at a loss for quite what he should say, "I, don't understand you... I, didn't mean to intrude..." He trailed off and the creature in front of him turned its head and let off another stream of chatter, presumably to the creatures behind him. Artel waited. The creature turned its head back to him, its milky eyes staring at some point in the middle of his forehead, which he absently thought was pretty good going for something blind.
"Big thing fall down," it began, startling Artel, "land here and make noise, much noise, big thing wake whole colony, hurts ears. Big thing will come now, will behave and not make noise."
"I..." Artel began, but the creature in front of him tutted angrily and he lapsed back into silence.

Thursday, 15 September 2016

Book Review - The Loney

Book Review - The Loney
By Andrew Michael Hurley

'Two Brothers. One mute, the other his lifelong protector.

Year after year, their family visits the same sacred shrine on a desolate strip of coastline known as the Loney, in desperate hope of a cure.

In the long hours of waiting, the boys are left alone. They cannot resist the causeway revealed with every turn of the treacherous tide, the old house they glimpse at its end...

Many years on, Hanny is a grown man no longer in need of his brother's care. 

But then the child's body is found. And the Loney always gives up                                                           its secrets, in the end.'

I picked this book up in Bristol airport while waiting for a place to Paris. I'd forgotten my own book and was perusing the shelves of the mini but incredibly packed WH Smith store looking for something a bit out of the ordinary, well, I found it. This little book is fantastic, completely unique and excellently written, I definitely recommend you give it a read.

The Writing - The Loney is written in the first person from the perspective of Hanny's brother. The text flows and reads well and Andrew builds suspense throughout the story, expertly posing subtle questions about the characters and setting the scene for the ending. Although when I first started reading I wasn't sure if I was going to get into it by the time I had finished a few chapter I was hooked, and by the end I couldn't put it down. The writing fully conveys the atmosphere of the book, imbuing the reader with a sense of unease and suspense that builds slowly but steadily throughout the story. Dialogue is used frequently and I think very well, the multitude of conversations the characters have help to not only give the reader a more in depth understanding of the characters themselves but also their relation to each other. The group has several interesting tensions and these are subtly introduced and expanded upon throughout the dialogue used in the story.

The Plot - The plot of this story is fascinating and while I want to write a good review I really don't want to give too much away because I really think you should read the book! Suffice to say that the plot of this story is in some parts simple, yet in others intensely complex. The main story line follows two brothers, their parents, a small group of their friends, and their pastor on a pilgrimage of types to The Loney, where they are subject to a series of disturbing events that occur during their stay. There are several subplots that run parallel to the main plot and these explore the difficult topics of human tensions, belief and faith. In this way this book is quite profound, Andrew displays a brilliant understanding of human nature and the need or desire to believe above all else, and his book poses many questions about the nature of the human mind. He is not afraid to explore the dark and ugly side of human thinking throughout his writing and this book displays a realism that I find both refreshing and admirable.  

The Characters - The characters in this book are used extremely well to create a unique sense of tension and unease. They are an interesting set of characters, each with their own problems and ideas, and the tensions that run between them are subtly explored throughout their actions and dialogue. There is a relatively small cast of characters but each one is very important and adds to the story in their own way. The relations, bonds and tensions between them give the story depth and in many ways the book is an exploration of human nature and the need for belief. Each of the characters presented in this book are written fully, they are real, tangible people with full, interesting personalities and flaws. 

The Observer said that; 
'This is a novel of the unsaid, the implied, the barely grasped or understood, crammed with dark holes and blurry spaces that your imagination feels compelled to fill.' 

And I totally agree. This book is dark and mysterious and fascinating, and the way it is written sends your imagination racing to explore and explain. The reality of the characters, the events, the parts said, and the parts left unsaid, left me mulling over this story for weeks.
In my opinion this is not a book to be missed.

Taking a Break

Dear Beautiful Readers

Many of you have been following our fantastic SciFi series 'The Young Blood' and, I hope, very much enjoying it! 
Well, with the release of chapter 10 last week we have reached the end of our first book in the series and will be taking a short break to prepare for book two. 
The completed series will contain three books, so don't worry because there is plenty more story left to discover. Book two will air on this website again in a few weeks time (we haven't picked a date yet) so keep checking back.

While your waiting there's plenty more interesting bits and pieces here for you to enjoy! 
Try Artel, my weekly adventure story, head over to the Hints and Tips page for some writing advice, or peruse the list of competitions you could enter on the Writing Competitions page. There's also plenty of Poetry, Short Stories and pieces of Creative Writing you can enjoy reading, as well as some Book Reviews if you're looking for your next read. 

And don't forget, if you have something to offer, whether it's fiction, poetry, book reviews or writing advice, and you want to get involved please feel free to submit your work or send me an email!

Happy Writing!

Rach x

Wednesday, 14 September 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- Wildly fanciful, Highly unrealistic
- Existing only as a product of the imagination
- Unreal, Imaginary, Visionary

Chimerical comes from the word Chimera which is from Greek Mythology and referred to a fire breathing creature that was part goat, part serpent and part lion. The word Chimerical entered english in the 1630's.

'Ellara laughed, she couldn't help herself, Joran's plan was crazy, it was chimerical, even attempting it seemed like madness.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word!

Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is a series of six words.
Your story can be any length and any genre but you must use all six words throughout the story. The words do not have to appear in the same order that they appear here.

"Mansion, Orange, Girl, Triangle, Plunge, Dream"

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Monday, 12 September 2016

Motivational Monday! The Caterpillar Story for Children Prize

Image result for the caterpillar magazine

This weeks Motivational Monday! post features The Caterpillar Story for Children Prize.

The Caterpillar is a print magazine for children between the ages of 7 and 11, featuring short stories, poetry and art. The magazine is the younger sibling of The Moth which I believe I have featured on this site before, but for those of you who don't know, is a magazine featuring short stories, poetry and art for adults.

So, this competition is for a children's story of up to 1,500 words. Your story must be entirely your own work and must never have been published or broadcast in any way.
There is a 12 euro entry fee but you can enter as many stories as you like.

The first prize is 500 euros and a two week stay at The Moth's Artists Residence.
Second prize is 300 euros.
Third prize is 200 euros.

All three of the winning stories will also appear in the winter 2016 issue of The Caterpillar.

The closing date for this competition is the 30th September 2016 so if you've always fancied trying your hand at writing a short children's story, or if you've got one tucked away in the back of a notebook somewhere, now is the time to get it out and send it in!

There is a full list of guidelines and rules for entries available to look at on their website, always remember to read the entry rules to look for formatting instructions or guidance, many competitions will not even consider your work if it's not formatted in the way that they asked for!

To read the competition rules, find out more and to enter the competition please visit The Caterpillar Story for Children Prize.

Happy writing

Rach x

Friday, 9 September 2016

10. Family

The Order of the Root concerns itself primarily with the security and wellbeing of the three Mothers – Chi, Ti and Ki. The Order is effectively a Sorority, although they allow one lifetime serving male Master to serve as their Steward.
After my ascension from the Temple of the Knife, I was initiated as Steward when my predecessor, Master Elion True, retired with honors.
As for the Mothers themselves – they are private women. They speak to me during the course of my daily duties but their greater aims and plans remain behind closed doors.
I abide.
My honor is in their service. Their private council is kept only by their serving sisters and by Lord Enik himself.
From Thorin Hassan's personal journal.

Jenned Hornskept sat at his lectern with an Eagle feather quill in his hand. In his arena the old methods were still the best.
His nook was arranged with many nibs, inks and pigments of every conceivable colour for the record keeping which was his charge at the Temple.
In the Archives, Jenned was both scribe and Architect, he had no thought for the majesty of shem bread, no time for the whipping and cutting of poniards  - but he could record.
His artistic prowess was unlimited.
Give him a rock and he could carve you a bust. Give him brushes and paint and he could return to you whatever scene you desired. All that Jenned wanted - was to be left alone.
And there he sat, in his nook, in the crypt of the ancients, beneath the Temple of the Knife.
For two hundred and ten years Jenned had kept the records of the Temple, but last week he had received a handwritten book of four hundred pages. A book that would change everything.
This was a document written by the three holy Mothers themselves, a document containing dangerous knowledge and the note that came with it was simple -

Our Beloved Master Hornskept,
Please find attached our final words, for our final Son.
Please illuminate them into a book and deliver it unto him on his one hundredth birthday - by proxy of your Temple.
With thanks from the Root.
- Chi, Ti and Ki.

Jenned lit a candle and drew out his set square and compassess over a fresh ream of paper.
“Today I begin my masterpiece!” He said in sheer delight as he dipped his quill.

Adoni's choir of nine Angels was making it’s final descent to the Temple of the Knife on planet Ishtar Prime.
Adoni and Luka were in the leading position of an arrowhead formation with their eight defence Angels flanking them behind – four on each side. The journey through spacefold had been unremarkable enough and adoni had spent most of the journey occupying himself by playing with his pet cat ‘Teaser.’
As the entry to the upper atmosphere was completed, Luka opened a com call to the surface as the supporting Angels completed their hemispheric security scans.
“Master Hassan, this is Ark Angel Arariel confirming our descent. Do you receive?” Luka’s assertive tone was quite different from her normal soothing timbre.
After a short pause the answer came back, “Loud and clear Arariel, The Temple is secure and your welcoming party is assembled.”
Luka held the com switch once more and continued, “Be sure to clear the Temple perimeter of all personnel. We will be deploying our Gobot driven assault tanks to secure the area on our arrival. Any moving targets outside the perimeter will be destroyed without question. We will land at the Temple pillars but the rest of the choir will hold position and monitor from five hundred meters above.”
Hassan's confirmation flashed green on the view screen as they drifted gracefully down through the clouds and saw the huge pyramid structures of the Temple coming into view on the desert plain below.

Ki'entha, Althea, Leon, Welsen, Jachin and Ibenjin were all dressed in their finest Temple garb and regalia. The initial flood of awakening brought on by their first doses of shem bread had now plateaued to a regular mental state of high alertness and calm. This was ‘The knowing,’ and providing they continued with regular consumption, they would retain this higher state of mind for the rest of their lives.
Each of them had been issued with ascension robes in red and grey cloth and each wore their
ceremonial poniards proudly at their waists. As they stood outside the Temple portico the arid desert plain stretched out before them into the distance, the heat playing shimmering mirages to the horizon.
Six Guardbots stood to attention, three either side of each of the Temple's huge bronze doors and Master Raethal sat on the base of the left pillar, casually plucking a tune on his Medenda.
Master Hassan then came running out of the temple shouting, “Form up! They are making their descent!”
Raethal slyly stashed his Medenda behind the pillar and straightened his collar and cuffs before standing to attention. Hassan fell in behind him and the six Gia guards followed suit.

As the V shaped formation of Angels descended out of the clouds, they changed their attitudes from North to South. The silent silver shimmering discs then hung in the air, locked formation and the lead Angel descended further down until it hovered a mere fifty meters from the ground. A series of loud cracks came from above as the eight remaining Angels deployed their assault Tanks from their underbellies. Each tank fell to the ground with a distant thud before taking up defensive positions around the Temple.
Lars Raethal grinned widely as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“Tarapel's been busy Brother. I bet those fuckers can do some serious damage!”
“No doubt!” Barked Hassan as the Ark Angel Arariel came down smoothly to the ground in front of the two Temple pillars. All eyes were on it and the air was electric.
A brilliant white light, the size of a fingertip, continually looped around and around the circumference of the descending Angel, gradually slowing down as it did so.
Finally, the landing ramp opened out to ground level, leaving a dark doorway in it's place.
Everyone was now kneeling, as ceremony demanded in the presence of royalty. Each of them waited apprehensively for any sign of Lord Adoni but all they could sense was a deep, low, growling sound coming from the Long triangular doorway of the now stationary Ark Angel which penetrated every ear with forboding.
Moving slowly out of the shadows, a huge, sleek, sandy coloured Smilodon padded its way out of the Angel and down the ramp. The entire welcoming party bristled in fear as the mighty saber toothed Cat, proudly seated itself half way down the ramp, yawned and licked it's lips as it's fearsome fangs glistened in the midday sun.
Next from the Angel doorway came Luka, her elegant metallic frame draped in a green and silver tutors tabard, then Adoni himself - wearing the immortal and unmistakable red and black royal robes of Enik’s ancient succession.

“Master Hassan! I remember you from Junction. My apologies if my Cat scared you.” Said Adoni as he came down the ramp and stroked the Smilodon with his left hand. The mighty beast closed it’s eyes and purred softly. The sheer sight of it was extraordinary, this outstanding example of Gian feline megafauna could easily shred and devour every individual present with it’s unforgiving claws and vicious fangs under normal circumstances, yet this one pandered to Adoni’s every whim.
“He's well treated with Elish and quite harmless unless ordered to be otherwise.” Said Adoni with a smile.
“Quite splendid Sire!” Exclaimed the awestruck Hassan. “You make an entrance to rival your father my Lord!” Adoni closed his eyes and nodded with a smile.
“Please, all of you stand, we are all equal here.” Said Adoni as he and Luka finally stepped off the landing ramp to set foot on the dusty firmament of Ishtar Prime.
“Lord Adoni, may I present the Current Temple Blademaster, Lars Raethal.” Hassan stood and gestured to Lars.
Adoni stood in front of Raethal, a clear meter taller than him, and placed his hand on the Master's shoulder.
“Your reputation precedes you Master Raethal. I believe you have much to teach me.”
Lars looked up into the face of his new Lord and Student, “That I have Sire!” He said smiling. “Your father has great hopes for you and my aim is to give you the blade that becomes your hand.”
“And here my Lord,” gestured Hassan, “are your personal Guard for Gia. May I present; Ki'entha, Althea, Leon, Welsen, Jachin and Ibenjin.”
Tears welled in Adoni's eyes as the six guards fell face down in worship at his feet.
“Finally!” He sobbed. – “I have a family!”
Luka prodded Adoni sharply in the small of his back so as not to be seen by the others.
“We have travelled a long way to join you all here today and Lord Adoni is tired.” She said as Adoni realised his emotional failing in front of his lessers.
“Quite so.” Said Adoni as he looked at Luka’s feet knowingly and then across to Master Hassan.
“I should rest. I understand that our intensive training programme begins tomorrow.”
At that moment, all ten of their wrist pads flashed red, indicating an incoming priority message.

Luka’s face shield immediately split and fell backwards to produce a holoframe which lit up with the live image of Enik’s stern face.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but there has been a major incident here at the Gian Lunar Keep.” Said Enik.  
“Doctor Brindi Enikson has defected to the Levyethin and the whole stem is now at risk! Master Raethal, please brief everyone on the Levyethin threat and design a training set to combat them. - They are coming!”

Wednesday, 7 September 2016

Wordy Wednesday!

This weeks Wordy Wednesday word is;


- Wild or Frenzied
- Being in the spirit or manner of a Corybant
- Agitated or Unrestrained

Corybant - (Classical Myth) A wild attendant of the Goddess Cybele.

Corybantic is derived from Corybant (defined above) and would have entered into English at around the mid 1600 from Phrygia (Asia Minor).

'Clyde peeked over the top of the bush at the revellers dancing around the fire. He had never seen such passion, such energy. The dancers were corybantic, each of them losing themselves in the heat and the euphoria of the dance, moving in a kind of heightened frenzy.' 


Comment a short piece of prose, flash fiction, or even just a sentence, using this word!

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

Writing Prompt!

Today's writing prompt is first sentence.
You must use the given sentence as the opening sentence to your piece, but it is up to you how you use it and where you take your character. Your story can be any length and any genre.

"What do you mean you can't see her? She's standing right there, she's my best friend, she comes everywhere with me..."

If you would like to share your writing please leave it in the comments section for more fantastic inspiration, or if you would like to submit any of your work to this website please visit the submissions page.

Happy Writing

Rach x

Friday, 2 September 2016

Artel - Trapped

For half a second Artel felt weightless, then gravity kicked in and he felt himself falling. His first thought was that he was somehow falling into the ground, but as his arse hit the base of the tunnel and he began to slide he realised that was not the case. Panic flared in his chest, a feeling he was not overly familiar with, and his hands scrabbled against the sides of the downwards sloping tunnel, his fingers trying desperately to find a purchase. He wriggled round and flipped over so that he was on his belly, his arms reaching back up towards the pinprick of light that was fast receding as he slid further and further down the tunnel, his feet kicking uselessly against the smooth earth. The sliver of light above him flickered and then disappeared as he slid around a bend and the tunnel became steeper. The darkness was now all around him and his nose was full of the cloying scent of earth. The air seemed thick with moisture and as the tunnel continued Artel felt the walls around him, realising with a terrifying clenching in his chest that they were a lot closer than he thought. He had never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but then again he had never been in a position where the thought had been relevant, but now, sliding through the darkness of a small, tight tunnel, he felt the fear rising through his stomach and squeezing his chest and throat so that he felt as if he could not breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut but it made no difference as his brain frantically tried to work out how much oxygen there might be this far underground. 
There was a pause, or at least it felt like a pause to Artel, then the ground beneath him was gone and he was no longer sliding but falling through the darkness. In some animalistic way he sensed that the walls had opened out and he was now in a cavernous room. The air seemed cooler and clearer and it rushed into his lungs, momentarily heightening his senses. Somewhere he could hear the steady drip, drip of water splashing into a pool. Then he landed, awkwardly and very hard, on an unforgiving floor coated in a thin layer of something soft that felt as though it may be fur. Pain flared in his left shoulder and across his hips and for a moment he lay there, somewhat stunned and relieved that the terrible slide through the tunnel had ended. Long moments passed and Artel felt the pain in his body beginning to subside. He moved gingerly, testing his body, and found to his relief that nothing was broken, merely bruised. He pulled himself into a sitting position and stared into the darkness surrounding him, hoping that his eyes would adjust. They didn't, and the darkness remained as impenetrable as ever. Remembering his training he sat for a while, straining to hear every noise in the dark room. Accompanying the steady drip of the water, which seemed to be coming from somewhere to his right, he could just pick up the slight whistle of wind, although after some thought he came to the conclusion that the sound must be coming from the entrance to the tunnel which was somewhere above him. There were no other sounds. In the darkness and the silence, he felt around for his sword, gratefully finding the slim blade lying only a a metre or so away, and he slipped it back into its scabbard. Then he staggered to his feet, feeling the ache in his hips return and an unwanted pain flare up in his right ankle. His head span slightly and he stood still for a moment, trying to get his bearings, a feat that proved almost impossible in the pitch dark room. Unsure what else to do he stretched his right arm out in front of him and began to walk forwards, hoping to find the wall.
It took several steps until Artel's finger tips brushed the slightly damp, earthy wall and he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't realise he had been holding. He moved closer and laid his whole hand against the wall, then began to move to the left, keeping his hand against the wall at all times. Theoretically, he reasoned, there must be an exit to this strange hole, a doorway, another tunnel, a gate, it couldn't simply be a hole in the ground with no way out, someone must have built it. 
He walked on, following the wall through the darkness. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, he had no way of telling in the steady darkness. Had he taken twenty steps, or 200? He could no longer remember. The wall went on, on, and on, and on. It was uneven, as if it had been carved in the dark, sometimes it dipped in and then protruded back out, and some parts of it were wetter than others. At one particularly wet point he felt his hand coated in slimy mud and the overly loud splash of his foot landing in a puddle echoed round the room. 
'So this is the dripping that I could hear earlier.' He thought to himself. Then he listened to the echo, the noise seemed to bounce round and round the room, getting fainter and fainter each time, but it gave him no clues as to the possibility of an exit. 
He carried on, following the wall to the left and trying to keep his spirits high. Long moments passed as he placed one foot in front of the other over and over again, his mind began to drift. He thought of his Queen, he thought of the war raging throughout the land and frustration rose in him yet again that he was stuck on his fools quest while others lead the battle in his place. He shook his head, growling slightly in frustration, another sound that seemed too loud and echoed through the darkness. He went to take the next step and found his foot caught in something, unable to stop himself he toppled over and hit the ground again, this time jarring his right elbow and letting out a short yelp of pain. He scrabbled to get his feet again and his hands found something smooth and shaped. 
'This must be what tripped me.' He thought, as curiosity took him and he felt around with his hands, blindly following the shapes of the object, which now seemed to be many objects, small and curved and fairly hard. He followed the contours of a funny part that ran at an angle he thought was somewhere between 35 and 90 degrees and curved at the end, then he moved his fingers upwards, finding another, and a hole with two sockets above. Artel dropped the skull at the exact moment he realised what it was, letting out another involuntary yelp and jumping backwards towards the wall. Although he hated to admit it the skeleton, for that was what it was, filled him with dread. It proved that things died in this room, something had died here at least, and the back of his mind filled in the blank spaces for him, that meant there may be no way out. 
Breathing heavily, Artel stood up against the wall, wiping his hands against the mud as if to rid them of the feel of the skull. Then he placed his hand once again upon the wall and began to walk to the left, placing one foot in front of the other. 

It was a long time before Artel felt the wall give way to a wooden surface, a wooden surface that met another wooden surface that then met the mud wall again on the other side. He breathed a sigh of relief, it was a door, and the door was the best thing that he had ever found in his short life. He had begun to think that he may have been walking in circles and would never find a way out, ending like the poor sod he had found on the floor. Eagerly he pushed against the and could hear the rattle of a chain on the other side as the doors jiggled slightly. He pushed harder and heard the chain rattle again, the doors gave slightly but stopped as they met the resistance of the chain. He pushed again, and again, and again, eventually throwing himself against the wood, hoping to either break the chain or splinter the wood. Nothing worked and at last he sat, panting and sweating, at the base of the doors, one thought whirling round and round his mind.
He had to get out.

Thursday, 1 September 2016

9. Salvage and Recovery

Explosions? Ha ha, yes, I’ve seen and felt a few of them. In my experience there tend to be two types of person in moments like that. First, there are those who will run in fear from the horror, and second, - those who will run like the devil towards it.
Serve yourselves well by befriending the fire seekers. - They are made of the might that turns the universe - and they will never let you down.
An'ewat Jentha-Korbandin.

Knight Commander in Chief, Order of the Ark Protectorate and Director General.  
Stellaris Militia Intelligencia.

Failure, loss and confusion was all that was left after sixteen hours of intelligence work at the Lunar Keep. Every last staff member and Gobot had checked and triple checked every possible shred of monitor data concerning the apparent theft of the drop team’s Angel. It was time to debrief.
“I simply can’t comprehend why she did it Enik.” Said Tarapel as the two old men each sat broken and weeping in Lord Enik’s ready room. Aethian stood, staring out of the window at the craters, standing to attention like a statue with his back facing them both.
Enik voiced curtly to Aethian’s robed silhouette, “This was NOT your fault Aethian!”
The Spymaster didn't flinch, rather he just stood there with the same grimace on his face reflecting off the glass of the window and back into the room.
“I believe I know why Lemin. It pains me to say it, but I believe Brindi defected out of sheer pent up anger for me, and for the mechanism of her birth.” Enik spoke slowly as he licked his tears from his fingers.
“It makes no sense Lord,” replied Lemin as he continued to dab the tears from his own eyes.
“We are all born of you and the Mothers. The breeding rules have never been an issue, your love and care for us all has guaranteed a long and fruitful life for all of us. Without your discovery of shem bread we would all be long dead by now.”
“Thank you my son, your words are kind but I simply never calculated the Levyethin risk early enough. The mouth breathers are at the route of this whole deception.”
“What will you do about it my Lord?” Asked Tarapel.
“There are things about the Levyethin which are known to only myself and the Mothers. It may be the case that I should have told all of you more about them long ago but you just weren’t ready.” Enik closed his eyes as he massaged his temples with his long pale fingers.

Aethian pivoted wide eyed to face the old men.
“And you tell me this now Enik? - Now? I could have prevented this my Lord! Tell me! Tell me for love’s sake!”
“I cannot Aethian! Not yet!” Barked Enik.
“So, when do you think the time to share these truths with the rest of us will be my Lord?” begged Tarapel, his voice a whisper.
“I don’t know Lemin. I need more time. More time! And I need to call a gathering with the Mothers as soon as possible. Adoni is our most important issue right now. It is imperative that he be trained at the Temple of the Knife and receive his guard for Gia. In the meantime, I want you to build three Archaean Arks, quickly. In them we shall store our entire libraries, histories and knowledge. When you have completed them, we shall bury them on Gia. A last chance for our final stem - in the event that all is lost.”
“A brilliant measure my Lord.” Said Tarapel with a nod. “But where on Gia should we place the Arks?”

Enik sank his head back into his chair and gazed at the ceiling.
“Epistemically speaking Lemin, we should hide them in places where the Ada’maya might find them further along in their evolutionary process. Places which can only be reached with great courage and sophistication. The top of Gia’s highest mountain for the first Ark I think.”
“Ah, yes, I know the very place!” Lemin opened up a holomap of Gia from the table between them. “Here, this frozen mountain top has an elevation of over eight thousand meters above sea level. In order to reach it’s peak an Ada’mayan climber would require compressed oxygen breathing equipment. They would also require a reasonable level of technology and courage to make the assent. If the site were finally to be reached, they would then have to dig. A fearsome task even for us.”
“Quite so Lemin. In my experience, none of our children have ever managed to acquire that level of ability until at least one hundred and twenty thousand years after Ape level. But these Apes have the Elish to quicken their endeavours.” He paused in thought before continuing.
“As for the other two Arks, I want one at the very bottom of the deepest ocean trench - The third, will be your choice and you will tell nobody. The location of the third Ark goes with you to your grave. Do you understand me my son?”
“Clearly my Lord.” Replied Tarapel as he continued to survey the global map.

“What of the now Enik?” Aethian spoke soberly as he stared across the barren moonscape. “If we do not move quickly we could lose everything. You know this my Lord.”
Enik gathered himself together once more with a stern look and eyed Aethian through his dark lenses.
“For the now - we carry on and salvage what we can, but we double our efforts and put the keep on full lock down.”
“And what of me Sire?” Asked Aethian as he finally took the empty seat next to Tarapel.
“You Aethian, - my dearest, sharpest blade,  -You, are with me. I want you to summon your father. Bring me my An’ewat! We must hunt down the Levyethin clutch on the surface - or we shall all die trying!”

For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, the six initiates of the Temple of the Knife woke in their cots without an alarm.
Ki’entha woke first and was immediately aware of the strapping and shem bread poultice that had been applied to her broken collar bone the night before. It was already healed, she could feel it. Her sleep had been euphoric but very calm. Almost womb like dreams were now fading from her memory as she rubbed her eyes and began to remove the straps.
As she looked around the bunk house, she could see the rest of her brethren stirring and waking.
The Medibot called Rubrius, that had tended to their wounds after the iron palm fights the previous day, was stood in the corner monitoring each of them tentatively.
Soon all six of them had relived themselves of their bandages and splints and were beginning their breathing exercises and fist form motions.
The com system chirped open and the voice of Master Thorin Hassan echoed through the room.
“Good morning Brothers and Sisters. You have done well! I am informed that each of you are now fully recovered from your fights and I would like us to have breakfast in the courtyard - twenty minutes please.”
Jachin and Ibenjin beamed at each other as Leon and Welsen laughed.
“I could eat a Whale!” Yawned Leon.
“As could I!” Welsen grinned as he supplied his friends with a firm nod.
The Gobot Rubrius, toned in, “My work here is done. Heal and be well.” With nothing further to say he powered up and marched out of the room.
After showering and dressing, the six Gia guards filed out into the beautifully sundrenched garden courtyard.

A large round table with eight seats set around it had been placed opposite the mausoleum. The table was covered in fruits, juices and dishes containing colourful rices and chindah of every conceivable variety.
Seated at the far side of the table next to each other with their backs to the tomb were Master’s Raethal and Hassan.
“We eat together here today as equals, this will complete your recovery. - Sit down and feast!” Said Lars as he began spooning mounds of fragrant rice and grapes on to each of the plates awaiting the six students, turning the lower tier of the table clockwise as he served.
Thorin Hassan began breaking wafershem and sprinkling it over each plate as it passed by.
“It is right and fitting that we Master's serve you your food and your first tastes of shem bread here this morning. In the field, there must be a command structure but here in the Temple, we are family.”
Welsen, Leon, Jachin, Ibenjin, Althea and Ki’entha took their seats, excitement blossoming in their chests. A clear air mixed with eagerness and apprehension flooded the table as the holy bread was served under the bright sun of Ishtar Prime.
When all the plates had been filled and everyone was seated, all eight brethren turned and looked at the tomb with their hands raised, in one voice they let out a clear shout;
“We thank our ancestors!”

“Eat! Today you feed from the shem!” Cried Raethal as they all filled their mouths with the much needed food - all of it laced with purest shem bred.
Within moments the powder took hold and each of the six initiates fell back in their seats wide eyed and in awe as their Masters smiled knowingly at each other.
“I know you all!” Cried Ki’entha. “It is as if I have known you all forever!”
Leon bolted up from his seat, “Mathematics! I have it…. I have it all!”
Jachin clapped his hands and muttered, “Incredible, I understand now how to build Angels!”
Welsen laughed a deep booming belly laugh and swallowed before speaking, “They weren’t joking! I have memories from my Great Grandfather’s life - clear as day and here in my mind as if they were my own!”
Althea, dropped her spoon and whispered, “I have awakened! Ki’entha, we are related more closely than I could have ever known! I see the memories, I feel them!”
Ibenjin gawped wide eyed in amazement at Master Raethal, “Remarkable! I have been a fighter for ten thousand years and I see all of those lives inside of me!- What now?”

Raethal and Hassan looked at each other and grinned.
“You have achieved the Holy awakening Brothers and Sisters! All because of the shem bread you have just swallowed and it’s marriage to that fire stone there!” Master Hassan boomed as he pointed at the fiery crystal obelisk in the centre of the courtyard.
“Now,” continued Hassan, “You are fit for the universe! But first you must meet your new Lord and Master. His name is Adoni- and he arrives here today!”
The two Masters and their six students stood and clapped their hands with whoops and cheers.
“Come, come,” barked Raethal over the cheering as they all settled down, “Go and report to the Quarterbot in the training range, you will all be issued with your new Temple tunics of red and grey. From today, you may also grow and wear your hair in whichever manner you wish.”

As the newly awakened students filed back to the Temple, smiles plastered across their faces and excited words upon their lips, Master Hassan shouted across to them;
“We will all be back here in full regalia for the arrival of Adoni and his Choir at high sun! - Enjoy it my loves! - Today your lives have truly begun and your destinies await you!”