If you live in Utah, than no doubt (unless you hide under a rock) you will have heard of the Wasatch fault. But just how much do you know? I found this on Yahoo, watch it and then think for a bit. My guess is that it will shift, however little, during my lifetime. (I'm 16 right now, and that should be about 20-40 years.)
Monday, September 22
Saturday, September 20
Two Shades of Midnight
This is a piece I did for my creative writing class.
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Two Shades of Midnight
Everything was a blur between the two expert warriors, as the silver lightening of scimitars orbiting their bodies collided in blazing fast parries. All the strikes screeched and wailed like one long note. Lilithia panted softly, the sweat cascading over the white fuzz of her eyebrows, over her cheeks, to her tongue, where she could taste the salts mixing with the metallic taste of blood. Blood from a broken nose than slurped and burned inside her nostrils with every breath.
Drizzt was agile wearing his magically enhanced bracers, but Lilithia could keep pace as he feigned left, right, right and left. Neither could work the other off of the offense, so timed-out was each single manuever. Drizzt felt her strength in the hand-numbing blows her scimitars made on his, at times nearly sending his weapons soaring away from his grasp.
Time seemed to creep by, despite the flurry of their weapons.
Lilithia sensed Drizzt’s distraction when she held her breath, the questioning look in his eyes and the slightest, tiniest drop of his weapons. He was growing weary, and now he was open. Faster than lightening, like a comet’s tail, both of scimitars connected with his solidly, locking them together before twisting them from his grip.
The blades clanged to the floor, leaving her holding nothing as she shoulder blocked him into the far wall. As nimble as an alley cat walking down the chain link fences, Lilithia leapt onto his back and set her feet over his shoulders to pin him.
“I promised.” She said, snickering. The sheer white of her teeth against her ebony skin made her a spooky, but intricately beautiful, wraith. At perhaps sixteen, quite young for a drow, Lilithia had bested all but her uncle Jarlaxle with his nasty magical tricks. She had the body of a seductress, but looks were so often decieving with her race, for though she was barely five feet tall, she was a forced to be reckoned with. As Drizzt knew well.
Blacker than freshly mined coal, more supple than rabbit fur, a drow warrior of either gender was a ferociously deadly enemy to be avoided at all costs. Unless, of course, you’re a drow.
“Oh okay. Just… don’t tell Catti. This is… embarrasing.” Drizzt managed to grunt, trying to push her off of his back, to which she responded by grinding her heel into the nook of his spine, behind his head. Drizzt silently thought to himself to remind her of where she was.
“Ow!” he groaned, collapsing back to the floor in an armor-covered, mushy heap of body. “I give.”
“Exactly, now let’s go get something to eat, and perhaps procure a bath for ourselves. You look like the black tar in the deep mines.” Lilithia said, leaping again off of him and crouching to untangle the metal jigsaw that was their scimitars. With a curse, and some luck, she pried her weapons away from his, nursing a new, deep gash in her palm. Drizzt seemed concerned of the crimson creeping from her nose, or what had been but was now crusted over her lip.
As she looked away, turning her shoulder to him, Drizzt could see that most of her simple blouse had been shredded off of her shoulders, everything but what was sheltered by her thin, mithral chainmail. Her naturally, and wildly, curly hair hung damp to her shoulders like lilies with too much sunlight, darkening the lavender highlights she had recently dyed into her snow white locks.
“You dyed your hair?” Drizzt asked, stepping up after gathering his own weapons and replacing them in their sheaths. His hand coasted through the air to curl his fingers into one bunch of hair and gently tug it. “It’s beautiful, Lilithia.”
“Yes, believe it or not, Regis helped!” she said, laughing and turning on him. He saw his own violet eyes reflect in hers, and the contrast of the hues. He could see what he thought might be stars in a purple midnight sky, but in truth, they were flecks of gold and silver that speckled her lilac pupils. Drizzt became lost, and he didn’t notice when his daughter, for that was why Lilithia had the same color eyes, stepped closer and hugged him, her head finding the crook of his neck.
“Better next time.” She whispered, listening as his heart beat. Still faster than her own. Together, in thoughtful silence, the father and daughter warrior couple walked out the wooden door of the private training room they had in the large house of the gracious Lady Alustriel.
><><><><><><
Two Shades of Midnight
Everything was a blur between the two expert warriors, as the silver lightening of scimitars orbiting their bodies collided in blazing fast parries. All the strikes screeched and wailed like one long note. Lilithia panted softly, the sweat cascading over the white fuzz of her eyebrows, over her cheeks, to her tongue, where she could taste the salts mixing with the metallic taste of blood. Blood from a broken nose than slurped and burned inside her nostrils with every breath.
Drizzt was agile wearing his magically enhanced bracers, but Lilithia could keep pace as he feigned left, right, right and left. Neither could work the other off of the offense, so timed-out was each single manuever. Drizzt felt her strength in the hand-numbing blows her scimitars made on his, at times nearly sending his weapons soaring away from his grasp.
Time seemed to creep by, despite the flurry of their weapons.
Lilithia sensed Drizzt’s distraction when she held her breath, the questioning look in his eyes and the slightest, tiniest drop of his weapons. He was growing weary, and now he was open. Faster than lightening, like a comet’s tail, both of scimitars connected with his solidly, locking them together before twisting them from his grip.
The blades clanged to the floor, leaving her holding nothing as she shoulder blocked him into the far wall. As nimble as an alley cat walking down the chain link fences, Lilithia leapt onto his back and set her feet over his shoulders to pin him.
“I promised.” She said, snickering. The sheer white of her teeth against her ebony skin made her a spooky, but intricately beautiful, wraith. At perhaps sixteen, quite young for a drow, Lilithia had bested all but her uncle Jarlaxle with his nasty magical tricks. She had the body of a seductress, but looks were so often decieving with her race, for though she was barely five feet tall, she was a forced to be reckoned with. As Drizzt knew well.
Blacker than freshly mined coal, more supple than rabbit fur, a drow warrior of either gender was a ferociously deadly enemy to be avoided at all costs. Unless, of course, you’re a drow.
“Oh okay. Just… don’t tell Catti. This is… embarrasing.” Drizzt managed to grunt, trying to push her off of his back, to which she responded by grinding her heel into the nook of his spine, behind his head. Drizzt silently thought to himself to remind her of where she was.
“Ow!” he groaned, collapsing back to the floor in an armor-covered, mushy heap of body. “I give.”
“Exactly, now let’s go get something to eat, and perhaps procure a bath for ourselves. You look like the black tar in the deep mines.” Lilithia said, leaping again off of him and crouching to untangle the metal jigsaw that was their scimitars. With a curse, and some luck, she pried her weapons away from his, nursing a new, deep gash in her palm. Drizzt seemed concerned of the crimson creeping from her nose, or what had been but was now crusted over her lip.
As she looked away, turning her shoulder to him, Drizzt could see that most of her simple blouse had been shredded off of her shoulders, everything but what was sheltered by her thin, mithral chainmail. Her naturally, and wildly, curly hair hung damp to her shoulders like lilies with too much sunlight, darkening the lavender highlights she had recently dyed into her snow white locks.
“You dyed your hair?” Drizzt asked, stepping up after gathering his own weapons and replacing them in their sheaths. His hand coasted through the air to curl his fingers into one bunch of hair and gently tug it. “It’s beautiful, Lilithia.”
“Yes, believe it or not, Regis helped!” she said, laughing and turning on him. He saw his own violet eyes reflect in hers, and the contrast of the hues. He could see what he thought might be stars in a purple midnight sky, but in truth, they were flecks of gold and silver that speckled her lilac pupils. Drizzt became lost, and he didn’t notice when his daughter, for that was why Lilithia had the same color eyes, stepped closer and hugged him, her head finding the crook of his neck.
“Better next time.” She whispered, listening as his heart beat. Still faster than her own. Together, in thoughtful silence, the father and daughter warrior couple walked out the wooden door of the private training room they had in the large house of the gracious Lady Alustriel.
Sunday, September 7
Out of the Shadows
This is another story I've been working on, since Halfbreed Rise and Broken Queen have been canceled, Blood Princess is on hold, and Ashes On the Water too. (I'll extend some, others will be left off. I'm not concentrating on long works yet.)
(<><><><><>)
Out of the Shadows
It was four in the morning on Jersey Avenue when Ivanelina Posnikov stepped out of the passenger seat of a lavish Cadillac, still straightening her skirt out from the wild night. She pulled the wad of cash out of her bra as she stepped under the flickering street lamp's orange aura, counting the the bills. Ten, thirty, eighty dollars was what her customer had paid for that one 'job'. Iva, as most of her clients called her, stuffed all of it in her purse, reaching to smooth her tousled chin-length hair.
At almost sixteen, she knew the touch of death. Her mother had been almost like her, some eighteen years, and three unwanted pregnancies, earlier. Gregor and Georginia, the twins, had died early, at only four months. Kelstromm had died at birth. But the last child born, Iva, had lived on to see her mother murdered on this very street corner. Fox, her only friend and guardian, had given her his poor man's wisdom and was her pimp for the past five years. She would turn sixteen soon.
As Iva started up the street, a second car pulled up, following her slowly as the window rolled down.
"Pretty late for a perty thang like you to be out... alone."
Iva kept walking, noticing a familiarly shaped shadow approaching from the corner of her eye.
"No, she is no alone. Go be lost, you pigfoockers." Fox growled in a thick Russian accent, wrapping an arm over her waist. The car sped off, the driver cursing loudly all the way to the end of the dark avenue.
"Is my czarina hurt?" Fox demanded, bending a little closer and kissing her temple. Iva shook her head, passing him the filled purse and limply letting him guide her to their shared apartment. Fox stopped her to look into her pretty, deep hazel eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, kissing at the deep puckering frown lines going across her forehead. Iva shook her head and then took a deep breath, muttering something. Fox pulled her chin up, kissing her and using his free hand to stroke her supple cheek.
"Fox... I... missed my period. Twice."
"Oh fuck, Iva... My rose, who will be the baby's fa... father?" he breathed more than asked.
"I don't know, none of the men used condoms when..."
"Well what do you want?"
Fox's question made her breath catch in her chest, as she considered the aftermath of her ensuing choice of words. Fox had always been like a boyfriend to her, but her 'occupation' had ruled out any kind of lasting relationship. If he had ever claimed her, her customers would kill her or it could have troubled her, knowing that she was willingly cheating, and he, allowing it. But she never cared to lay beside any man, aside from him.
She craved it, and though Fox was twenty three, he had taken her to bed many, many times in the span of five years. He had good reason to believe the child may be his, and so did Ivanelina.
"Fox, I have a feeling," she murmured, kissing his strokign thumb and reaching for his hand. "This baby, will be yours, I quit whoring, and we'll go to Plum Point."
Fox gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing and begging her attention, but she staid fixated solely upon his facial expressions. Slowly, he considered her words. Was he ready to be a father? He had always thought that his sweet czarina would never be only his, but now...
"It is better than never, Iva... marry me?"
Fox blinked as the shocking words left his mouth, even as his thoughts wound up and into each other.
"But what if I am wrong...?" she asked innocently, her strong Russian accent returning as she relaxed from the whole tension of the night 'jobs'. She gave a nervous glance around the dark, still street. "What if baby is... Vlad's?"
"Ivanelina, I love you, I don't care who the papa is, I want you in my life. For good." Fox said, stressing the accent of his English. Though both were Russians, born in the US or in Russia, living in America had no effect on their use of Russian out of public. Had Ivanelina paid much attention, she would have realized that he had began speaking in English again, when she had started speaking Russian.
"God offers me my wish of five years, I must not be impolite. I will get an honest job, and you can raise our little one... far away from here." Fox said, sweeping her up in his arms bridal style. Iva's giggles brought a smile to his lips and a spring to his steps as he walked into their apartment block carrying her. Her apathetic at best, cold shell sizzled away when she was in this safe haven, away from the thugs and the 'badges'. When she was only with her prince, where she could be the fifteen year old princes Fox loved, in the light of the day, away from the dark streets.
(<><><><><>)
Out of the Shadows
It was four in the morning on Jersey Avenue when Ivanelina Posnikov stepped out of the passenger seat of a lavish Cadillac, still straightening her skirt out from the wild night. She pulled the wad of cash out of her bra as she stepped under the flickering street lamp's orange aura, counting the the bills. Ten, thirty, eighty dollars was what her customer had paid for that one 'job'. Iva, as most of her clients called her, stuffed all of it in her purse, reaching to smooth her tousled chin-length hair.
At almost sixteen, she knew the touch of death. Her mother had been almost like her, some eighteen years, and three unwanted pregnancies, earlier. Gregor and Georginia, the twins, had died early, at only four months. Kelstromm had died at birth. But the last child born, Iva, had lived on to see her mother murdered on this very street corner. Fox, her only friend and guardian, had given her his poor man's wisdom and was her pimp for the past five years. She would turn sixteen soon.
As Iva started up the street, a second car pulled up, following her slowly as the window rolled down.
"Pretty late for a perty thang like you to be out... alone."
Iva kept walking, noticing a familiarly shaped shadow approaching from the corner of her eye.
"No, she is no alone. Go be lost, you pigfoockers." Fox growled in a thick Russian accent, wrapping an arm over her waist. The car sped off, the driver cursing loudly all the way to the end of the dark avenue.
"Is my czarina hurt?" Fox demanded, bending a little closer and kissing her temple. Iva shook her head, passing him the filled purse and limply letting him guide her to their shared apartment. Fox stopped her to look into her pretty, deep hazel eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, kissing at the deep puckering frown lines going across her forehead. Iva shook her head and then took a deep breath, muttering something. Fox pulled her chin up, kissing her and using his free hand to stroke her supple cheek.
"Fox... I... missed my period. Twice."
"Oh fuck, Iva... My rose, who will be the baby's fa... father?" he breathed more than asked.
"I don't know, none of the men used condoms when..."
"Well what do you want?"
Fox's question made her breath catch in her chest, as she considered the aftermath of her ensuing choice of words. Fox had always been like a boyfriend to her, but her 'occupation' had ruled out any kind of lasting relationship. If he had ever claimed her, her customers would kill her or it could have troubled her, knowing that she was willingly cheating, and he, allowing it. But she never cared to lay beside any man, aside from him.
She craved it, and though Fox was twenty three, he had taken her to bed many, many times in the span of five years. He had good reason to believe the child may be his, and so did Ivanelina.
"Fox, I have a feeling," she murmured, kissing his strokign thumb and reaching for his hand. "This baby, will be yours, I quit whoring, and we'll go to Plum Point."
Fox gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing and begging her attention, but she staid fixated solely upon his facial expressions. Slowly, he considered her words. Was he ready to be a father? He had always thought that his sweet czarina would never be only his, but now...
"It is better than never, Iva... marry me?"
Fox blinked as the shocking words left his mouth, even as his thoughts wound up and into each other.
"But what if I am wrong...?" she asked innocently, her strong Russian accent returning as she relaxed from the whole tension of the night 'jobs'. She gave a nervous glance around the dark, still street. "What if baby is... Vlad's?"
"Ivanelina, I love you, I don't care who the papa is, I want you in my life. For good." Fox said, stressing the accent of his English. Though both were Russians, born in the US or in Russia, living in America had no effect on their use of Russian out of public. Had Ivanelina paid much attention, she would have realized that he had began speaking in English again, when she had started speaking Russian.
"God offers me my wish of five years, I must not be impolite. I will get an honest job, and you can raise our little one... far away from here." Fox said, sweeping her up in his arms bridal style. Iva's giggles brought a smile to his lips and a spring to his steps as he walked into their apartment block carrying her. Her apathetic at best, cold shell sizzled away when she was in this safe haven, away from the thugs and the 'badges'. When she was only with her prince, where she could be the fifteen year old princes Fox loved, in the light of the day, away from the dark streets.
Thursday, September 4
Naming Your Characters
I've been interested following some stuff here. and I thought I'd put this out for anyone needing help with naming characters.
For multi-lingual inspiration, you can visit Yahoo! Babel Fish
Searching for something, usually one word, can get you started. (I.E.- hunter for a wide variety of words. (Hunter, blood, stalker, carnivore, villain...)
Swahili Translations are helpful too, for more natural or tribal sounding names.
I prefer exotic names, usually ones that stick in your head very easily. I like to use the letters M, Y, U, N, K E, R V, and Z or X in names, such as Khamunette, Manyx, and Zakyr. Latin can also offer base words but efficient and accurate translators are few and far between for it.
For more Forgotten Realms-ish names, I usually take two words to describe and bond them. (Stone, strength = Amsul Shinstones. A dwarven cleric?)
The names above and below are open for use until further notice, as an offer. None of them are claimed by my copy righted characters. Note, they are NOT in any order except that which they were composed in and I will try to update/add more when I get them. (Remember, these are generics. I can't be accounted for the meaning or whatnot. They're not race specific either.)
Akanhsa Kellan Kual Umna Hargyth Haramet Kammisut Paramier Ulan Khenner Tannar
Raegammon Senaed Sorrophena Alkern Haeyn Zaenner
Specific names: (SW. for Swahili meaning, IT. for Italian, SP. for Spanish, FR. for French, G for German.)
Uzuri *Zuri*- (SW.) 'Beauty'.
Makosa, Atakosa- (SW.) 'Sin'.
Umia, Umiza, Uchungu- (SW.) 'Pain'.
Haine- (FR.) 'Hatred'.
Odio- (IT.)'Hatred'.
For multi-lingual inspiration, you can visit Yahoo! Babel Fish
Searching for something, usually one word, can get you started. (I.E.- hunter for a wide variety of words. (Hunter, blood, stalker, carnivore, villain...)
Swahili Translations are helpful too, for more natural or tribal sounding names.
I prefer exotic names, usually ones that stick in your head very easily. I like to use the letters M, Y, U, N, K E, R V, and Z or X in names, such as Khamunette, Manyx, and Zakyr. Latin can also offer base words but efficient and accurate translators are few and far between for it.
For more Forgotten Realms-ish names, I usually take two words to describe and bond them. (Stone, strength = Amsul Shinstones. A dwarven cleric?)
The names above and below are open for use until further notice, as an offer. None of them are claimed by my copy righted characters. Note, they are NOT in any order except that which they were composed in and I will try to update/add more when I get them. (Remember, these are generics. I can't be accounted for the meaning or whatnot. They're not race specific either.)
Akanhsa Kellan Kual Umna Hargyth Haramet Kammisut Paramier Ulan Khenner Tannar
Raegammon Senaed Sorrophena Alkern Haeyn Zaenner
Specific names: (SW. for Swahili meaning, IT. for Italian, SP. for Spanish, FR. for French, G for German.)
Uzuri *Zuri*- (SW.) 'Beauty'.
Makosa, Atakosa- (SW.) 'Sin'.
Umia, Umiza, Uchungu- (SW.) 'Pain'.
Haine- (FR.) 'Hatred'.
Odio- (IT.)'Hatred'.
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