A Brilliant Man Once Said

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real… for a moment at least… that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southern Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri- La.” -GRR Martin

I thought I’d share this beautiful thought of a master with you. It makes me feel alive knowing someone shares my passions.

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Every once in a while

I miss my long hair, how I met your mother, new york city, writing stories and feeling as carefree as when I was 8.

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Who I am

A direwolf. A cougar. A stallion. A griffin. A draggon. A warrior. And all of those beat with the same heart. Which is mine. I am a cry across the vastness of the dark sky. I am a wild wind roaming through the face of the earth. I am the falling leaves of autumn and the gust of falling rain. I am here and I am not. I ofttimes can’t see what’s in front of my grasp but I see a million light years away into another life, where magical beasts call out to me in the voices of forgotten loyalties, so loud I hear them in another time, in another matter, in another world where I am but a human, full of flaws and as powerless as an ant, and sometimes even less. An agony of different time flow, different values of no sense, different faces of no appeal and magic long forgotten. My cry is louder then all of my brother’s and sister’s. Yet no one can hear it in this world. No one but rain. My brother, my friend. The one who comes from so afar and brings me tidings of the worlds no one believes in. I don’t know who I am, yet I feel the power I have been bestowed with. The one that hasn’t showed yet, but I have seen it change the minds of many. I have seen things that haven’t been yet, but I’ve seen them as vivid as a daylight- and it’s beautiful. And I feel its every turn in my blood. It’s in my veins, in my heart, in my soul. I brought it with me from the worlds I hear. Yet it’s as if I am still an infant. I still grow. And I still lack something I feel but cannot grasp. I have stumbled, and I have been stabbed oh so many a time for reasons I know nothing of. What is it with human habits of stinging their own world and seeking difficulties on the plain spot. And why does it affect me. I forget as they forget. But I always feel who I am deep inside. It wakes me in the middle of the night. And I’m afraid. Of who I am. Of this world. Of waking up one day to the routine of nothing, able to hear the magic no more. Of being someone I am not. There is so much more to life than living. And I see it every time I close my eyes and make the world take shapes of wonder. And I pray that I remain a fairy creature that I am today. A song. A wolf. A stallion. An eagle. The rays of sunshine. An ancient dust. A morning chill. A bite of frost. A changing ripple of the tide. A guiding star. Excalibur. A hope. A warrior. That I have always been. And there is nothing besides fight that warriors do best but endure. And so I shall.

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For The Social Experience Visit Middle Earth News

http://middleearthnews.com/author/anastasiagreen/

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Richmond’s Warrior Continuing- Beginnings

It was getting dark. By the time Kephean got to the creek the rain was an impenetrable wall, and mist was beginning to descend lower to the ground. A sudden lightning broke the sky and his horse reared, rains slipping from his wet grasp. He made no noise. Suddenly the air bent under his weight. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Now the same air was inside as well, carrying, penetrating his every cell. Silence. A cold drop on the cheek. Shiver. A shift in the body. A wave of the cloak under a sudden gust of the wind. The ground. Hard and supportive. His entire weight pressing to it and bouncing right off. The hair spitting a couple of heavy drops as he rose. Exhale. Kephean found his feet.

He stood there for a moment with a sigh, watching his horse storming off into the gloom as silence closed in again. The sky roared in the distance. A shimmer of leaves. The clasp of wings. A bird here and there. Suddenly he felt a chill on his cheek, forcing his head into a turn. The lumps of his brown hair licked the drops off his cheek. Suddenly he knew where to go.

Casting a heavy wet hood of the cloak back onto his head, he pressed on. Strange signs were smudged across his face. He passed unnoticed through the woods, footsteps light, ducking under every branch, or siding it with a gentle release. His cloak blurred in the mist. Not even rain took any notice of his strange presence.

A queer feeling deep in the gut suddenly halted him. His cunning eyes slowly moved through the forest, falling to the undergrowth. No. He froze again, gaze slowly moving upwards. And he waited.
The sky broke again with a devastating noise, as if a great- sword ran through an immense beast. So keen the steel an image of it remained a few seconds in his eyes. It fell. It stroke the ground. The rain changed its direction now getting right into Kephean’s face. Something steered inside him again and a sudden urge set his feet in the direction he did not intended undertaking.

He moved slowly. And with every step his wonder grew, the rain and the mist blurring his vision so the eyes couldn’t be trusted. But there was that uneasiness in the gut once more. That one, he knew, was worth to be relied on.

Something was there, among the trees. Startled by the feeling of a strong presence, he suddenly realized- someone. Strong, yet a great sorrow hung sturdy in the air. But curiosity is reckless, it knows no fear. Slowly, soundlessly, as he moved forward a small dagger appeared in his hand when a pair of red eyes rested upon him. They blinked, red tongue smudging the blood across the brown fur of his muzzle, and lowered again to the thing the greatness of his massive body was towering upon. Kevhean passed among the wolves as if he were one of them, none took any notice, busy with their meals. Moving forth, he began to realize they were feeding on the fallen warriors.

www.PaintingsGallery.pro_Budanov_Valeriy_She-wolf_medium_226867

Suddenly he saw a white gleam among all of that mess. A body was laying there. Bare. And none of the wolves touched it. The tangled brown locks of her hair were coiling on the wet undergrowth. The features of her body were fair, but it was horrible. Dark purple spots marked every vertebra of her spine, and the veins made an abominable net on her back. Were there were no dark spots and yellow splotches, there were red spreadings, alike to rash. Her fingers were pale with a tint of blue. And on the inside of her right wrist he saw something very odd. Strange markings were tattooed on her entire forearm. The likes of some of them he’s never seen before, but it was the first one that stroke his gut. He needn’t look to his own wrist. He knew all too well. The signs were of a sort. Much troubled by what he saw, still he had to know.

Kephean unlashed his cloak and covered her with it, gently picking her up and proceeding in the same direction he came.

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Richmond’s Warrior- Intro

Pain. So much pain. Legs throbbing, hot blood prickling through her thin dirty rags of a dress. Head on fire, cold sweat mingled with rain running down her shivering body. But worst of all was the drum. Loud merciless pounding in the chest that pained her throat as if she were swallowing molten gold. And the beat of it in her head, the drum of doom. Any minute now, any second they would gain on her and even gods wouldn’t dare thinking what end she were to meet. But it was an end alright. There was that unmistakable stench of it in the air, the iron taste of it in her mouth. And yet she ran, ran like fire. Another spasm of pain lancing through and it was a struggle to breathe, an invisible hand of death clutching tight the insides of her ribcage. But she felt none of it, except the speeding drum.

The sword of the sky escaped the sheath for an instant, it’s sharp steel with a blinding flash, and a midnight cloak waved over it again in a sudden gust.

Kill, you have enough power to kill, why don’t you kill them all? She thought. If not them, kill me! Now! I wish I could kill them all! She gnashed her teeth, as red iron ran down her chin. Legs gave a stumbling wave. No. She ran. The shouting and the clanging of heavy armor was getting nearer. The drum. The agony. She could not comprehend. There was no desire left for living, not even a trace and yet she ran. Stop. Stop. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. And yet she ran. Wet, heavy locks of hair slashing across her face as some evil power turned her glance back. Another stroke of pain, and this one was impossible to ignore. A tip of a cold iron peered through her ankle and she went down with a shriek. A heavy load pressed her to the wet boggy ground and a loud tear of a cloth sent a drum into a tune of madness. A scream urged itself but all that came out was a splash of dark thick liquid as a heavy hand met her cheek. “Keep it down, bitch!”

She struggled but the weight was too great to fight. A madness took over her that instant and a clutching hand let go of the guts, as she felt a hard face of a rock under her hand. A splash of hot red blood went across her stomach and finally provoke the scream, as another shape moved hurriedly in her direction, yellow teeth cursing. A couple of others were behind, baring their steel. Slippery mess went in-betweens her fingers as she tried to crawl, but the arrow wouldn’t let the other leg move at all. The drum, the gnashing teeth, the iron taste, the molten gold hardening by the second.“Please…”

A sword glanced in the sky once again, a flash over the wet heads of the trees and down it went, the great steel cutting through the heart of the earth and everything turned into a face of snow, all pale and glittering under the sun. The drum was gone. Instead a piercing sound filled the air, so sharp it almost made her wish the thumping back.

A great roaring laugh rolled through the night, as the midnight cloak waved back, so dark and heavy it slowly muffled every other sound except her rapid breaths, and utterly covered all existence. The last thing she saw was his face. A great fire closing at all sides, the same clamor of moving weapons, steel on steel, the wailing and the shrieking terrors. And his face. The fright in the glittering pools of his eyes. “Go! Ride hard and do not look back.” She said, clutching his little hands around the reigns. “Please…” The pools broke as if pierced by needle, sending bitter springs down his soft cheeks. She shook her head. “I promise. Don’t look back, little brother.” She gave a hard slap on his mare, sending it off into a gallop.
“Please…” She heard for the last time.

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