Stones on the Path

[Bereth]

A place for little stories, poems, tales.

I’ll start with one from another time and place.

There is this waterfall, frozen solid from what I hear, somewhere in the icy mountain heights. I’ve turned my searching to find this one as well, yet not with any real, hurried urgency. I remember once, long ago, finding a cresting wave frozen in a magnificent arc, as if some magic had stilled it instantly in place. But even as young as I was, I knew that wasn’t how it happened. I tried to picture how it formed ... yet cannot. Did one small drop freeze first? Then another cleave to that one and more gang together until a tumble of the muted molecules mushroomed and slowed the fluidity until nothing moved at all?

I’ve tried to do some impossible things in my long and tattered life, and know full well that if I’d tried to freeze a wave, I’d only make a mess of it. Much less an entire waterfall. Do others marvel as I do when they stumble across it? Not just at the beauty and wonder of it, but what it must have taken to get there way it is?!

Do they want to keep it for themselves ... or share it with someone ... just to see their eyes come alive with the wonder they themselves have felt? I think it amplifies our own joy to watch a similar unfold in another’s eyes. With so much to discover, why does anyone forfeit their innocence to become so ... jaded.

I do confess that when I do stumble across this wonder, I will most likely face the compelling urge to chip a tiny piece of it off ... even though I know it will only melt in my pocket. No, I will probably simply leave it as it is, with only the image carried away in my keeping. One does not need to touch and capture and own things to love them.

Silence ... it intrigues me to think of such power harnessed so perfectly into silence. Not that I like such silence that much. ‘Safe’ isn’t always the best place to find yourself.

[Taethowen]

Ooh, I like this little snapshot! It feels like a glimpse into another story, almost, though. Like this is just a character's thoughts within part of a bigger journey.

If you're wanting feedback, I had a couple comments from a technical aspect:

In the very first sentence, you've got a stray comma. Just remove the one after "frozen solid" and the sentence reads more smoothly.

I think there's a typo or missing word in the last sentence, first paragraph: "Did one small drop freeze first? Then another cleave you that one..." Should it be cleave TO, not cleave YOU?

If you don't want technical feedback but rather just impressions/thoughts, let me know for the future! Can't wait to read more of your writing!

[Bereth]

@Taethowen fixed! However, the first comma placement still puzzles me. As I read it, I pause, and I often aim for a more choppy rhythm in my writing, thus the excessive use of ellipses. *red face* I think I aim to give myself and any others who may read it, a chance to pause and absorb and think more deeply.

That and I have a kind of love/hate relationship with that spellchecker. Lol

But thank you! I’m always grateful for advice to improve.

[Taethowen]

@Bereth <3 I tend to insert commas and ellipses myself when I'm drafting because it's where I pause to think and it all just turns into a mess, lol. I have a beta reader now that I hand her my semi-polished drafts and go "I think I got most of the commas, now find the rest please!"

So I've learned to keep an eye out for most of them over the years. *sweats nervously* Sort of.

[Bereth]

@Taethowen *winks* also guilty! And you’re right, these are small excerpts from character journal of mine. So a reader may be a bit lost at the context, but hopefully Find enough interest to be drawn in?


It had been so quiet in Dundee.  Fresh from the portal, I found it there, and ... who knows what seizes us to do things at times.  Impulsive, innocent actions that turn out to be the hinge of fate.  I crouched low to bring myself closer to the small creature’s level, considering the soft fur, trying hard not touch it since I knew all too well what it faced.  I hadn’t noticed him standing there, didn’t recognize him.  He advised how best to eat it, seasonings that would be fit for a King.  He said he’d seen the King himself, in past days.  Been set on fire by the Gods ... and Balthazar himself.  Something about him bore witness to his claims, that he was not an idle liar.  I answered him now and then, the awe I felt was not contrived.  

And then he simply handed me a rapier.  A very old weapon, yet as light as the inside of my jar.  My eyes must have questioned him, for he assured me he was an “exceedingly good judge of character.” I don’t know how he could tell in less than a marc’s time, but listened carefully as he explained the sword’s history.  It was forged by Islander, perhaps I’d heard of him?   Gifted with the weapon artist enhancements which have now been lost to the world ... and other improvements, close to 50 all told, or double that, if I understood him rightly, which seems impossible.  He spoke of the magic that disrupts and counters any and all such spells on the weapon, and emphasized the importance of not adding any more, worrying of its destruction.  I could easily understand why.  The cherished sword is among the dwindling few left in existence to have been touched by a weapon artist, and I comprehended its value.  A piece of history.   

Almost as stunning as the blade itself was the name.  I asked, of course.  I’m not sure it has always borne a name, since he spoke of it being “a sword made to fill my greed but bearing witness to nothing but my sorrow ... so there is it's name” ... as if just given.  I agreed that the name seemed fitting.  I couldn’t have named it better myself.

The only possible way to thank him for such a gift was to determine in my heart to bear it well, to honor its heritage ... to ensure that it was passed along to someone who would treasure it equally.  I never thought I would set aside the rapier given by Cyno.  I’d meant to carry it far longer than this.  But I have quite certain he would not mind.

I am now Jael the Bearer of Sorrow.  

[Taethowen]

Oooh, I love this fascinating glimpse into your world and its history!

Feedback-wise, most of my comments here would be punctuation and grammar related, and since this is a character journal grammar is a little more flexible. Mostly, overall, this piece felt like it often jumped back and forth between past and present tense, and sometimes it was a little jarring.

As for punctuation, my two main pieces of feedback are this:

Ellipses (the ... used to indicate thoughts/speech are trailing off, etc.) are always three periods. There's not really any firm rule about using or not using a space between each one, but they are *always* three periods. So choose whether you want to use spaces between or not, and then keep it consistent.

Periods and commas go inside quotation marks, so this:

“exceedingly good judge of character”.

Should be "exceedingly good judge of character."

And I have multiple thoughts on this part:

so there is it's name....” . . . as if just given.

First, it should be "its name" no apostrophe. Second, see the note I made about ellipses. And third, I really don't think you need the second set of ellipsis in that quote. We already get the effect of the pause from the ellipsis within the quotation marks, so the second set right after just makes it feel a little clunky.

Gifted with the weapon artist enhancements which have now been lost to the world

In this part, I head to re-read the sentence a few times to understand what you meant by "the weapon artist enhancements" but I think if you make it possessive (the weapon artist's enhancements) the meaning will be clear.

I would have loved for there to be a name for the creature mentioned at the beginning of this entry! There were several more little bits that really made my worldbuilding-instincts flail and start pondering what might be going on, like the king having been set on fire by the Gods, and the bits about weapon artists making enhanced/enchanted weaponry. I can't wait to see more of this world!

[Bereth]

Thank you, my one and only Reader! Fixed again.

This was an incredible encounter with one of the most prominent and famous players in the game, and I tried valiantly to remember every tiny detail to record it later. Some of what he said were beyond me, like the Gods setting the King on fire. So I couldn’t explain it more, just bore witness to his rare words. I’d love to take hours to explain how complex and imaginative and immersive it was, on so many levels. But this weapon he gave my Jael was extremely rare, a high privilege. I’m so glad I still have the account to remember it.

[Bereth]

I ache from training so hard. Still more than two levels separate me from my goal, yet I must rest. After gathering my courage to ask one of the most famous of Clerics for her blessings, I was able to slash through a goodly portion of my training and stand before the Trainer in half the time it would normally have taken. I sensed it pleased her to know of my heart, my longing in sharing the same profession as she. It grows ever more a reality.

The generosity here is nothing short of amazing. After being nudged to secure better armor for myself, I asked where I might find it, and when an answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, I asked another. Before I knew it, I was holding two identical sets of the same suiting! I will have to find someone who can use the second, and exercise more restraint with my inquiries!

This lance I now bear is a formidable weapon, this gift from the Benevolent Warrior, Cyno, who continues to monitor my progress closely. He is almost more like a rogue, appearing so suddenly, vanishing quickly. Saying little, even the night he handed me a few of his sister’s belongings. He was quite drunk then, though not the bellicose sort that usually devolve after too many ales. I have sat, before sleep now and then, gently paging through the book. It seemed an odd gift, at first. Until I found an impossibly fragile parchment, tucked between the last pages. I don’t think he knew it was there, though I sense he may not wish further memories provoked. Her words were such a blending of sadness and hope ...

What shall we sing ~
When lightning untangles her last bright pulse
And darkness swallows all that’s false;
Clamors subside to planes of glass
In the wake of the storm that’s come to pass ...

What shall we sing
When the thunder sleeps
And naught but the rain still gently weeps . .
What shall we sing
We’ll sing ...

We’ll sing of what’s now and forever sown
In the warm deep softness of fertile loam
And alter the course we’ve set towards home
When the thunder sleeps

For then the song, the song it will keep
Embrangled in thunder’s sleep

Well then, it seems I am now strong enough to search out better equipment for my defense, that which no one but by my own hands can gather. It is good to have goals.

[Wamba_the_Fool]

Dibs on "Bereth's Second Reader!"

First thought, if you'll have it: If you want to communicate a pause in the middle of a sentence, may I humbly nominate a good friend of mine: the em-dash. Just throw 'em (ha!) anywhere. "Here's the first part of my sentence -- and also, something else." Or even in the middle of the thought: "Here's the start of something -- and yet, here's something else -- but this part concludes the first thought."

On your most recent, by your leave: I love the wordplay on "planes of glass!" Also "come... to pass..." I'm a sucker for clever craft of that sort. And "embrangle" may be my latest favorite word. Had not run across that one before.

What game, pray tell? (If thou hast leave.)

[Bereth]

Haha, Wamba, you’ve no competition on that, good to see you round these parts again! Yes I know I was terrible at overuse of ellipses back in the day until a certain friend point blank asked me “why the hell I used those dots all the time!” So I almost quit altogether. So these are old ramblings from before then. I’ll try to edit better.

In fact, for both of you, it’s my ambition to escape the need for correction! Ha, though I still welcome it, and don’t doubt I’ll need it. :)

Now a little lullaby for the dusk.

Sink down, day, through sorrowed joys
Drift away from harried noise
And in the peace regain your poise

Sometimes days unravel as they end, we grudge the weariness and fight having to set aside our ambitions against the need for sleep.

Some days are magic and we cling to them tenaciously.  

Do what we may,
each day ends

[Oak]

@Bereth You work is vivid. It draws the reader in.

I write as a hobby myself. I may take up writing a series on here - the Adventures of Lotho Hogfoot, a hobbit that loves all things tree-ish.

[Taethowen]

OMG, the poem in the 2nd-to-last update and the lullaby in this most recent one are STUNNING. Are you sure you're not a poet at heart, Bereth?

Your writing really is immersive. Even when it's a bit choppy and in need of editing, it's so easy to sink inside the character's mind.

[Bereth]

@Oak go for it! There are myriad reasons to write, the best is to entertain ourselves!

@Taethowen I absolutely love poetry, in whatever form it takes. I see and hear it everywhere. And there are few things on earth that nourish my very soul more than words fitting together in lyrical beauty. But it’s often agony to pry them out. Lol

This one from long ago came more easily than most.

Irony

Though darkness casts a weighted shroud
across the shoulders of the night
A resolute contention with the light ~
It clarifies the stars.

In silent, dormant stillness sleeps the land
That lies below
The freshly fallen mantle of the snow
Hiding what we know . .

Challenging the gloom ~
The placid winter moon
Its liquid silver glow
On pale and brilliant snow
Inhuming unquenched promises
of Spring.

[Taethowen]

Oooh, 'Irony' paints such a lovely picture in the mind! I love the plays with contrast imagery you use here.

[Lail]

Hi Ber! Thank you for sharing with us.

I loved your first piece. I really felt like I was there. The scenery was so vivid, it was painted in my mind and the emotions really echoed with me. Its a beautiful ode to what some might find a simple thing. But appreciation of such things is, to me, something that really enriches my life.

I am certainly no poet (and can't give much critique to the form, but can still enjoy reading) so I admire those who are. I very much enjoyed 'Irony'. It was beautiful, the words, the images, everything. It was perfect. I was temporarily transported in my mind to a wintry night reminiscent of my childhood.

[Bereth]

Bless you! (Please do keep offering editing critique, I’ll do my best to make changes.)

@Lailyn, thank you. I wish I could paint, though painting with words is equally as delightful. There are time I’ll get an image in my head I ache to set a brush down and record, but alas.

Another relic of the “other” site ~ and one of these days I'm going to write something happy, lighthearted, hopeful *grins* But until then:
This was an attempt to create an myth for one of the creature's we hunted, who had a very odd name (which is revealed at the end.)

They did not start out with any intent of being considered among those creatures deemed "evil", but are now, as have many before, whether by poor luck, or poor choice, or purposeful bent. Once placid, docile creatures with a luxuriant haircoat that invited even the most callous of hearts to stroke their hands through it when no one was looking, their appetites became their ruin.

Many of the morsels they consumed were not necessarily unpalatable to everyone, but their downfall was in not knowing what was agreeable to their own constitutions, and thus, in their indiscriminate hunger, they sampled whatever seemed remotely edible. If it wasn't the lush yellow flowers in the grasslands that twisted their bowels, or the platter sized blooms of the thistles that pierced their throats, or the or the fetid pools of stagnant silt that sent the contents of their bellies back up, or the compelling sweetness of the wines as they curled at the feet of the Inn patrons . .

Worse yet, they began to forget their place among men as favored and trusted, and yearned to not only eat whatever they wished, but to do whatever they wanted to do, even that which men alone could do. Small successes here and there drove them to try things that did not work so well, and a variance arose inside their natures that simply blurred their judgement in the easiest of choices. Where they once felt at peace in the company of men, they began to want to form their own alliances with each other to further their fame, which only brought about bickering and jealousies, serving only to drive them deeper into themselves, and warped their beauty.

As their appetites caused their beautiful coats to dull, and their chronic sickness caused their sweet purrings to degenerate into pained snarlings, their accumulating injuries began limiting their abilities to travel very far. Where once they accompanied the great heros of the lands as beloved companions, they could now barely keep up with the most distracted and halting of initiates . .

Their last labored foray into the mines drove them to sample the sickly sweet glowing mushrooms that poisoned them so thoroughly that they no longer looked anything like their former selves. Having just enough sense left to drag themselves back to the sunlight, they found themselves hemmed in the borders of the wastelands, forced to feeding on the only vegetation left them . . the noxious slimy plants.

Their utter fall from the graces of men condemned them to a bitter, undifferentiated state that left no word for their species any longer, and thus they merely called them "things"

[Bereth]

And what would a compilation be without a poem about love? Not the pure kind that is unshakeable, but one many of us know too well.

Love

It’s a smile that pauses, lingers,
An arrow that pierces through,
Palms pressed with gentled fire,
A burst of mingled hue.

It is light that springs from nothingness,
And grows to everything
It’s knots that slowly tangle
In gentled tethering.

It’s purposeful and poignant prose
That quilts your every thought
It’s backing down and giving ground
Compromises wrought.

It’s narrowness and openness, solemnity and joy,
Purity, hilarity and promises that cloy.
Innocence and quietness and silver without dross,
Luxuriance and latitude and lassitude and loss . .

[Bereth]

Another journal entry, though trying to take the advice of others, edited as best I can ahead of time.

I’m a little worried that I’m going to lose track of all the gifts they keep tucking into my pack, unasked, unexpected, unworthy as I be, but I don’t ever want to take a single one for granted. I’ve still to use even half the potions Gael drowned this little Initiate with. And there was the broadsword, given with great ceremony on behalf of all the guildmates of GOLD, via “Xap”, as he wished to be called, though with sorrowful heart, and more than a little embarrassment, I had to place back into the giver’s hands since the lance was given already.

Dear Maria the Storyweaver crept quietly while I rested above the Inn, and I woke after many marcs to find several suits of armor and other blessings, along with an explanation of their history with the Kindred. I think I prefer antiques - - well used, time tested old things. The shine of newness may be worn off, scars and nicks embedded into the leather and steel, but if they did not fail another, I’ve more hope they will serve me equally as well, at the very least.

May Providence bless Ansalan richly, though I suspect it already has. Today he tracked me down to sneak several precious scrolls to me while I whittled away at a my training, with careful instructions of their usage - - which, I admit, leave me more than a little fearful to attempt to follow intricately. Not for the weapon I already hold, it is powerful enough, but looking to the future. The future. May Ansalan and others of pure heart ever be a part of it.

I have held to my promise to not travel southwards to face the Death Lord without Vardian’s treasured escort, though it has not been yet proven possible. I will forgo ever doing so without her sweet company, and not regret missing the chance to defeat him, if it never occurs. There are far more important things than quests. My heart wanders often to her lovely face. I sense such depth to her, and the kind of strength that is not easily won, but tempered of great pain. Though it may seem incongruous for me, the lesser that I am, to do so, I often lift her in my thoughts to the gods, and will her peace.

*she smiles at this point* Perhaps it was only a dream - but it seemed so real - ever so carefully, I set the edge of my lance against the sticky webs that bound my Sponsor’s hands, and mindful of the precision that it required, sliced through each, slowly, breathlessly, my smile returning in pace with the nearly soundless twang of each single strand snapping free. No one should be so bound that they cannot move - - yet I admire the webspinner’s handiwork. Though it seems immeasurably fragile, there is a resiliency to the little threads of gossamer. They remind me of friendships, in some ways.

I’ve tried other hunting grounds, but keep returning to the familiarity of the duckpond. Sometimes it’s so crowded I can barely turn around, but often I’m there alone with the dratted Mallards. I still gravitate to my rest near the Great Healers. I feel safest there. I feel as if woven into the fabric of greater things - - while my heart surges with love for many, the very center is the gods’ alone.

[Taethowen]

I've fallen so behind on your pieces, ugh. So much stuff happening!

On 'Things' (since you don't really have a title for any of your journal entry types, lol) - I like how it reads almost like an entry in a scientific field book, of sorts. But I will admit at the end I was hoping for a more recognizable name than 'things' for the creatures.

On 'Love' - uuuugh, this is so beautiful and heart-wrenching! The subtle journey from new love to heart break/loss at the end is just lovely to read. Excellent word choices and rhythm to it, as well.

On 'Gifts' - I love the slice of life feel to this one. Just bits of life and quiet moments. The only question I have is at the end, with "the very center is the gods' alone." Do you mean it to be plural possessive (in which case, you've used gods' correctly), or just possessive (god's)? It wasn't quite clear from the context.

[Bereth]

Dear @Taethowen, exactly my exasperation with the title of the creatures, which is why I had to attempt an explanation for their odd name. The gods didn’t see fit to change it. :) And yes, there were several gods, most not very godly, so plural possessive is correct. Thanks for asking!

I love that the word “wound” has two meanings, and I meant both in this snippet.

Unwound

You drifted across my aimless path
And pulled my cheek towards the
Soft Southerly Winds
Tugging at strings not lightly released
Unwounding me . . .

I lay in soft coils at your feet
Unwound

“Speak your words from a heavy spirit few in number, Haleth, and those that radiate your joy fewer still,” my mother had advised. “For in truth there are few who wish to hear either.” I’ve tried hard to use my two ears more often than the one tongue gifted me as I’ve traveled these lands, Little Book, but I rather like to think you more neutral in this. I’d hate to forget these days of Light, for likely I will long to turn back and cherish them when the shadows crowd in again.

Do I start at the edges of this storm of gladness and work my way into the Eye as I unravel my thoughts, like the anticipation of sweets to end a fine meal? Each greeting, bright with delight, each hungry embrace, however lengthy the parting, unwounds me. The roots of trust curl their tendrils down deeper, and center me - an anchor and wings together, oddly enough. I’ve tried to express my heart through little songs, and he has been kind not to laugh at the efforts.

[Aerlinn]

Hi Bereth! I've had your thread open in a tab for...probably weeks now...waiting to be read.

I think my favorite bit is the 'What shall we sing' poem. It's the sort of thing I always want to write but I'm not much of a poet. I also admired the piece the naming of the rapier. It's always a gamble, I think, to stake so much on one word or on a name but I think it worked out beautifully.

On your last piece I love the framing of wound/unwound. It's a very poetic double meaning I've never really thought about before. The mother's quote is very, well, quotable, and insightful.

Good luck in your writing! I'll be back.

[Bereth]

I’m honored, Aerlinn, at your kind words! I often find just one small smattering of inspiration and then try to build around it somehow. Often it doesn’t work, but it’s a relief when I get to the point of being fairly satisfy with it.

As in this. I’m boat sure anymore what exactly it was that inspired it. *bemused shrug*

Two Mountains

Two mountains stood tall, side by side,
Divided by unbrigable distances,
Alone
Together

Circumstances dictated a fate not their choosing:
They could not move, and thus were forever doomed apart.
Yet in their grieving, they found ways to touch ~
The morning sun woke the Eastern peak,
The arms of his shadow caressed his companion
Until later she returned the favor
By tucking him in first at night.
Both tipped sleepy faces to the moon
Beneath a soft shower of silver
And shivered shared dreams.

Often they snuggled discretely
In a cottony quilting of fog.

And as they grew older,
They learned to let loose ~
Small pieces here and there,
And sometimes in thundering waves
That mingled together at their feet.

[Wamba_the_Fool]

Bravissima! I really like this one -- the anthropomorphic elements are a delight.

[Taethowen]

These two are both so lovely! The contrast of wound/unwound and wound/wind/unwound/unwind is an interesting comparison in the first piece.

I do love the imagination of the Two Mountains piece though. It makes me think of the Disney short "I Lava You." I especially like the imagery of the shadowy embrace, and the fluffy cloud coverlet.