Stories I Started ~ Unfinished Edition

Story 1

"LIR, I TOLD YOU not to eat the mushroom."

Lir scowled at me, or, tried to. He bent over and emptied his stomach again. "Not a word of this to Ithelarin."

I grinned. "No promises."

I handed him my water flask. He took a swig and wiped his mouth. He took a seat next to me at the base of the tree, resting his head against the bark. The small beads of sweat that had accumulated on his brow were starting to drip. He paid no attention to them.

"You sure you don't want anything for that?" I asked.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Just an upset stomach".

"You ingested poison." I reminded him.

"Not like I'm gonna die." Lir shrugged.

"No, that's my point. You could."

Lir rested his hands on his stomach and sighed. "I got food poisoning every night from my mom's cooking. Built-up a tolerance to most things."

"I guess that's fair." I laughed. "Your constitution is pretty scary, but I don't want to take any chances-"

"Fine, if I pass out, you have permission to work your voodoo magic." He caved.

"It's not voodoo. It's an arcane art and it has nothing to do with miniature dolls." I defended, folding my arms.

"Call it what you want, Ammon." Lir laughed. He turned his head in my direction. He took another drink of water and smacked his lips. "However, you can't deny you were in a hippie cult."

"No. Not a cult."

"You spent years in the woods talking to bushes and braiding hair." He said, gesturing with his hands. Water sloshed inside the flask.

"I was part of a sect that taught and helped us connect with ourselves and nature, to become extensions of its will. I am an apprentice Druid, not a cult member." I argued.

He smirked. "Whatever you say."

I rolled my eyes and turned away. There was no use arguing with Lir. He always found a way to nitpick your words and use them against you. It didn't help that Ithelarin wasn't here to contend with him. She could usually handle him pretty well. I, on the other hand, had no effect on him, or the decisions he made.

As an example, earlier Lir had found a mushroom and asked if it was edible. When I had responded with 'No, don't eat it', he promptly popped it in his mouth. I rushed over and told him to spit it out, but he smiled and held out his tongue as if to say 'too slow. What are you gonna do about it now?'. Not even five minutes later, Lir was throwing up.

Snapping twigs broke the silence between us. In the distance, large footfalls echoed in the wood. I grabbed onto the tree, Lir fumbled for his bow. My heart rate increased as the sound became louder. Lir held his finger to his lips. His face seemed too pale for his dark skin.

To our right, a large figure emerged from the bushes. I tensed up, holding on a little firmer to the bark of the tree. Lir reached for his bow, but his movements were slow and sluggish.

"Come any closer and my arrow will pierce your heart you son of a banshee." He cursed, fumbling with the string.

"Woah, woah, easy on the insults!" The hulking frame stepped out of the brush. A young woman with broad shoulders held a deer carcass in her arms. "Lir, you look like spit. What happened?"

"This twit ate a poisonous mushroom." I said. My heart beat slowed. It was only Ithelarin.

She frowned. "I got the mushroom part, could you repeat please?"

"Mushroom. He ate it. Sick." I said, trying to pronounce my words in their accent.

Ithelarin nodded, seeming to understand this time. She dropped the deer carcass and strode over to Lir. "You are an idiot." She said, swatting his head. She turned and started to cut away at the deers hide.

Lir whined and rubbed the spot where he'd been struck. Under his breath, he threw some curses at her.

"Do you want me to make a fire for that?" I asked, nodding to the dead animal. Ithelarin shook her head once again.

"Sorry, I know it's been a few weeks, but I still can't get what you're saying."

"He wants to know if you want him to start a fire for the deer," Lir informed.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great." She smiled.

I sat up and walked into the trees, gathering wood as I went. I repeated some common phrases as I walked, trying my best to impersonate the common tongue accent. I knew the language, but I never learned to pronounce it right. I grew up in a sect, and we spoke the language of Dain. The accent couldn't have been more different.

I didn't blame Ithelarin for having trouble with my speech. She seemed to find it amusing at least. Lir was my translator

*insert small talk and other stuff*

I stood and helped Lir to his feet.

I took the lead, pushing through trees and brush. I felt the tug of the forest ingrained in my soul. I knew the woods. I knew where they ended and where they flourished. Allowing my mind to wander, I let the forest the lead way.

Behind me, Lir swatted at flies and pushed through branches.

Lir and I were quite different. *enter cool paragraph compare and contrast style ESSAY WOMAN, ESSAY*

Ithelarin, or Arin as I called her, was our protection. That, and she was our resident mom. She kept us out of harm's way, either by scolding us or killing the things that threatened us.

She's kind of scary.

To be honest, Arin and Lir would probably get on fine without me. I mostly cook, guide, and complain for our group (both things that Lir could do just as well). Especially the latter. However, Arin said my accent was cute, so she wouldn't let anything happen to me.

I came to a stop at the edge of a beaver swamp. The sunbleached skeletons of dead pines stuck out of the marsh. The chirps of cicadas and frogs blended with the bird songs. 

aaand there we go. This was one I had a vague idea for, and just wrote this all down because it was cool. I liked the characters' interactions with each other, but I had no idea where the story was really gonna go. 

This was the little synopsis I wrote before I started:

In the woods and on the run, Lir, Ithelarin, and Ammon never expected to be thrown into the path of an arcane being, Immeril. Told the world's fate is in their hands, they must return her beacon to stop Galadar's darkness from spreading. This unlikely venture changes the fate of the world, for better or worse.