Albino: Chapter 3 (Nov. 22)

I don't have much to say about what I don't like. There are some things about the story, but really, that's more of my personal opinion.

Here's the 9th. It's been awhile:

SPOILER! :

The survivors of the attack on Dakonia—about seventy people—traveled north, to Midlan. They didn’t wait for morning, but the sun began to rise halfway

through their short journey. Rising from the east, it cast black shadows on a dark, enclosed path. The sun was a good sight, but it didn’t remain. In a

matter of minutes, it was hidden behind dense, gray rainclouds. And it was dark again.

Akiria’s wings glowed as they had before, and now she led the exhausted survivors along the very path she had fought the dark angels on. Boriol, Elaine, and

Illyana stuck together. Illyana’s golden, seven-tailed dog walked beside her without a sound.

It was no secret that Akiria’s exhaustion was getting the best of her. Since returning from her battle at about midnight, she had healed the injured,

comforted the grieving, and buried the dead. She walked as steadily as she could manage, but even the smallest children in the group could see that each step

was painful to her.

Elaine walked ahead of Akiria and knelt down in front of her. “Up,” she said over her shoulder. Akiria simply collapsed onto Elaine’s back.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. A moment later, she was out cold. Her wings still glowed, but dragged on the ground. Illyana and a boy her own age rushed forward and

held them up.

“They’re soft,” the boy said.

The lights from Midlan illuminated the end of the path. Soon, Akiria’s wings dimmed and then stopped glowing as they entered the light. Midlan was roughly

twice the size of Dakonia, and about ten times more organized. As soon as the group passed through the open iron gates, the noise of the big city hit them.

Even this early in the morning, seemingly everyone was up and on the cobblestone streets.

“Let’s find a few inns first,” Boriol said, addressing the group. “Akiria needs rest, and I’m sure she’s not the only one.”

From there, the group of survivors divided into families and friends. Boriol stuck with Elaine, Akiria, and Illyana. They found an inn at the intersection of

the main street and one that looked like a linear marketplace. Inside the inn, the only things being sold were sleep and alcohol. The reception desk was

adjacent with a bar of sorts. Two people sitting at the bar, a man and a woman, stared at either Elaine or Akiria as they approached the desk.

“Room for four,” Elaine said. She shifted Akiria up higher on her back. The angel wasn’t heavy, but carrying her for miles had to be strenuous.

The receptionist, a middle-aged man with a goatee and short, black hair, turned and looked over the party. Before he could say anything, the man from the bar

said:

“You’s a dark?”

He was pointing unsteadily at Akiria, who was still asleep. Elaine turned so that she was between him and the girl.

“She’s an angel,” Elaine said. “Look. Her wings are white.”

“I saw one. Just yes’serday. A dark ‘un. Was her, it was.”

“We were in Dakonia yesterday,” said Elaine.

“No ya wan’t. She—tha’ dark ang’l—she ’ad black wings.”

The man was annoying, and he was drunk. Boriol pushed past him and asked the receptionist for room keys. The receptionist gave him the keys and walked around

the desk.

“Sir, you are drunk,” he said to the drunkard. “Go back to your room and sleep it off.”

The drunken man stared at Akiria for a few more seconds before stumbling back to the bar and taking another drink. The receptionist sighed.

“There was a dark here yesterday,” he said. “A woman, she was; ten years senior to that girl.” He paused and looked at Akiria’s face, rested on Elaine’s

shoulder. “Their faces are the same.”

Did Akiria have a relative? A sister? Boriol hadn’t heard of one, if she did. He made a mental note to ask her when she woke up.

The four of them ascended the wooden stairs and entered their room.

--

When Akiria woke up, it was morning. Beside her, Illyana had her arms and legs wrapped around her wing. She could wait. Illyana couldn’t sleep too much

longer unless she had stayed awake the entire day and night.

Boriol and Elaine were gone, probably to talk with the other refugees. Akiria vaguely remembered being in Midlan, probably five years ago. It wasn’t a

complicated town, so she could find her friends if she tried. Part of her wanted to stay and rest, even though she wasn’t tired in the slightest anymore.

Someone knocked on the door. Akiria looked down at Illyana and slowly pulled her wing away. She trotted over to the door and opened it, expecting Boriol and

Elaine. Instead, there was a man she’d never seen before. She vaguely remembered his voice when he spoke, though.

“Akiria Syara, correct?”

“That’s me.”

“Yesterday, I was drunk. I accused you of being a dark angel, and for that I apologize.”

Akiria didn’t remember any of this, but she nodded. She knew why he’d made the mistake. “You saw Simona, didn’t you?”

“Aye. Simona is your sister, is she not?”

“She is.”

Akiria sighed. She hadn’t told anyone about Simona, but of course Simona would tell everyone about her. Looking back, it was naive to assume she’d forget her

little sister in favor of her new “friends.”

“She’s gone dark, but has yet to take a life.”

Akiria nodded. “Then I’ll bring her back. Where’d you see her?”

“She was flying north.”

“Then, excuse me.”

Akiria trotted past the man and found the washroom at the bottom of the stairs. After a few minutes, she emerged from the washroom and returned to her own

room, where Illyana was still sleeping. Now, though, she had found a pillow to replace Akiria’s wing.
Smiling to herself, Akiria climbed onto the sill and dove out, spreading her wings and stopping her descent five feet from the ground. She turned around and

soared over the roof of the inn, landing for a moment to survey the area. Of course Simona wouldn’t be here. Boriol would. He was presently exiting a tavern

with Elaine and a woman Akiria had never seen before. She was pointing to the north and making flapping gestures with her arms. Wings? Then came a sword

stabbing gesture, and Boriol held up his hand, nodding. The woman returned to the tavern and Akiria flew down to her friends.

“Dark angel up north?” Akiria asked.

“Apparently,” said Elaine, “this one’s your sister.”

“I know. I’m about to go look for her.”

“You never told us you had a sister,” Boriol said. “Your reasons?”

“I didn’t want to be associated with her, but now she’s dark and someone’ll kill her ‘in the name of justice’ if I don’t help her. Sorry, Boriol. I’d go with

you and everyone usually, but this is my own problem and I need to go fast. I’ll be back by tomorrow.”

With that, Akiria took flight. Once she was comfortably far away, she let her tears fly.

--

“She was trying not to cry,” Elaine observed. “Should we go after her?”

“Only if she’s not back by tomorrow. She’s going to deal with the biggest worry this town has, so all we have to do is figure out where we want to settle.

Or, we could rebuild Dakonia, become mercenaries, or even join the Seekers.”

Elaine shook her head. “As much as I want Akiria to be safe, I don’t want to get involved in political wars.”

Boriol shrugged. He knew Elaine wasn’t big on politics, but part of him wanted to make her believe his side. As forceful and unkind as that sounded in his

thoughts, the Seekers were the ones fighting for the angels’ safety—among other things.

“Let’s get back to the inn,” Elaine said. “We should check on Illyana and see what she wants to do.”

The inn wasn’t far. Boriol was sure Illyana could hear their steps on the stairs, but just in case, he turned away and let Elaine open the door.

“Illy, you decent?”

The room was empty. Boriol and Elaine walked in and searched the room.

“What are you looking for?” Illyana asked. She stood in the doorway, hair still damp from the washroom.

“This,” Elaine said, pulling a red ribbon from her pocket. “I thought it would look cute on you.”

Elaine turned Illyana around and set to work on her hair. Boriol filled her in on Akiria’s situation.

“So, we’ll wait a day for her. If she’s not back by then, we’ll go north.”

“She has no idea where Simona is, though,” Illyana said. “All we know is that she’s up north.”

“Not true,” said Elaine. “Akiria knows her sister. She knows some things we don’t. However, I do want to look for her if she’s not back in time. Illy, you’re

the only person I know who can heal through pain. Akiria can’t do that. So, if she’s hurt, she can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m willing to bet she’ll get in some kind of fight on the way,” Boriol said. “We should go after her. Or, rather, Illy should go with one of us to heal

her.”

“I’ll stay,” said Elaine. “If Akiria comes back before you do or before you find her, I’ll send her over. Ah, Illy, your hair’s done.”

Illyana looked in the mirror above her bed. Elaine had left her bangs alone, but tied the back of her hair in a loose ponytail. “Thanks,” she said.

“We should go soon,” Boriol said. “We don’t want Kiri to get too far ahead of us. Illyana, can you ride a horse?”

“Never tried it,” she admitted. “I can learn.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

No violence, for once.

Wait, I'm sure this has been a long time, but has there always been a seven-tailed dog? :O

Quote:

---

Inside the inn, the only things being sold were sleep and alcohol.

---

Really nice line. :D

And I think you used the word "drunk" too many times too close together when they get to the inn.

Have you considered drawing a character lineup of the AH cast? YOU SHOULD DO ITTTTT! <3 And I like the addition of a new character that's a relative. I also like the ending of this. It makes it seem like the next chapter will be really fun.

The seven-tailed dog was originally supposed to be a major plot point for the ending (yes, I actually did have it planned at one point), but then I changed it completely. I'm still trying to figure out how to give the dog any significance. It's been there since Illyana's introduction, but I haven't mentioned it at all.

I'll draw a character lineup when I get back from church today. (Driving there now--I love this 3g Internet) Rather, I'll start. I think I've tried it before and ended up just drawing an Akiria/Boriol scene.

Also, I'm not overwhelming anyone with all these characters, am I? I don't plan on having every single one survive or be present till the end, but I've still got some western characters to introduce. Then I'll be done with characters and onto the rest of the story. Actually, they won't come till later.

Oh, and the Angel Hunters characters--they have accents.

I'm not one for developing whole new languages for the sake of immersion, like Tolkein did, but I'm not Tolkein. I don't copy him at all. My elf characters are the most technologically advanced in the lower continent of the world I still haven't named, primarily because I don't want it to replicate "Forgettable Fantasy World 3: Something Ending with '-ia'" or something of the like.

Anyway, in this unnamed world, accents vary by region. The southerners, Akiria, Boriol, Elaine, and Illyana (also Tempus and Simona), have New Zealand accents. Reason: I've always thought New Zealand accents sounded the cutest with girls. Pathetic reason, but hey, if I publish it, no one will ever know.

The easterners, Aaron, Elina, Morin, Arion, and Iris, have British accents. No reason whatsoever.

Northern characters, like Naomi and Siren, sound Irish.

Western characters who have yet to be introduced all speak in a modern American dialect.

So far, I think Lanei and Paul were western, and their screentime was extremely short.

Kay, so I know I haven't updated Naomi's story in awhile, but there's a reason for that other than my laziness. Actually, Naomi's story is currently a few months beyond where the Angel Hunters story is, chronologically. There are some major plot points that require both to be running on the same clock. Aaron's already mentioned Akiria and hinted toward her parents, and there's another connection to be revealed in the next chapter.

This is complicated. But it's challenging and fun. Plus, I don't prewrite or edit anything. Everything I post here IS my prewriting.

Actually, I think I can safely upload another chapter in Naomi's story. Either later today or tomorrow.

The accent thing sound fairly interesting, actually. It'd be interesting to hear them all, though.

And it seems like maybe a lot of small details are tripping you up. Some friends and I, including zizi on the forum, are going to do a pre-NaNoWriMo next month. This month we are planning the novels and we'll start actually writing on the first. Would you care to join us?

I'll join. We gonna have a thread for it?

Uhhh, I don't think so. It's been Facebook-based insofar because it's a good way to keep track of documents and comments, blahblahblah. XD

But we'd love to have you around. NEED MORE MORAL SUPPORT! :D

I just joined Facebook a few minutes ago and sent a friend request. MORAL SUPPORT SHALL BE HAD.

Also, instead of writing the same stuff I usually do, I went out on a limb and actually published something for a website.

I should mention that I get paid every time that link is clicked, for bringing publicity to the site or whatever. Triond was a good find. Five years of writing didn't go to waste!

Edit: I'll post links to articles from now on, but I won't do any other promoting. This thread is for me to write stories and get feedback, not money.

Naomi's Story: ch. 5 is coming up.

Okay, I lied. If life was a video game, Naomi would have just gotten the Duke Nukem Forever disease: still loading.

So, for now, here's the prologue-ish thing from Albino. It's the actual explanation of Sierra's mech hand.

Violence warning.

SPOILER! :

Sierra sprinted through the forest. Her shoes were lost in a swamp somewhere behind her. She tripped on a root. Her head smashed into the dirt just inches from a jagged rock. Her ankle burned when she stood up. The bottoms of her feet were numb from the cold, probably bleeding out as she ran.

Her only concern just ten minutes ago had been her mechanical pencil running out of lead. Extra money, courtesy of her parents, had gone into buying a hard metal one. Plastic pencils broke too easily. In that way, her aunt Shiva was like a pencil. All of her morals snapped like a flimsy plastic utensil, and Sierra had no idea why.

“I bought you a present!” she'd said. Sierra jumped over another root and turned to her right. Her ankle collapsed, and she fell again. She did do that a lot. If she hadn't tripped on her chair and accidentally knocked the concealed knife out of her aunt's hand, she would be dead now. She could have picked up the knife after Shiva threw it at her as she bolted out the door. It would have served her better than a pencil. If Shiva had a gun, she was finished either way.

“. . . all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword,” Sierra said to herself. “Matthew twenty-six, fifty-two.”

Her parents had stressed that she memorize certain verses in the Bible. Sierra had no idea why some of them were relevant, but if Jesus' words were true, she did the right thing by leaving the knife where it had landed. Taking up a weapon would only make her pursuers more likely to hit her with a more powerful one. She knew they had guns. All the same, Christ's words considered, her chances of survival would have been higher with the knife. Or maybe she'd just have landed on it during one of her falls.

She crawled for a minute before rolling into a hollow log and curling up where she was sure she couldn't be seen. That done, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

“She's in the log, Shiva.”

A male voice. It came from a man Sierra had seen a few times. He was a muscular guy who, according to Aunt Shiva, did some questionable work for some questionable people.

“I know that. Jesus, how could she run any slower?”

Sierra scrambled out of the log. She saw her three pursuers: Shiva, the questionable guy, and a black man. Shiva had a gun, and had recovered her knife. The other two appeared unarmed. Sierra knew they weren't.

“Well?” Shiva said. “Weren't you in the middle of running away?”

Sierra turned and ran again. She could hear Shiva laughing behind her, but she was too scared to be annoyed. She cut to different paths, changing direction as many times as she could. Her ankle felt like it was broken, but running on it was probably less painful than being shot or stabbed.

Why wasn't Shiva shooting? Was this a game to her?

“Sierra!” the evil woman called. “If I told you my reasons, you'd be glad to die for me! But it's more fun this way! Isn't it?”

“You're a freak!” Sierra screamed.

She flattened herself against a tree. She needed to rest. Shiva was just playing, so she'd probably just tell her to run again if she caught up.

“You know, your hair is pretty. It really sticks out in a dark place.”

“Stop drawing this out, Shiva,” the man said. “You told me we'd get albino limbs tonight, and you already messed it up enough.”

“Quiet, you. Wasn't it you who couldn't grab her when she got past me?”

“She got past you in the first place. Besides, Samuel here was supposed to have my back.”

Samuel was the black man, Sierra guessed. She'd seen him at church literally every time she went, but God meant nothing to him in the face of money. One couldn't serve two masters, she recalled. She leaned forward, and to her surprise, she fell straight to the ground. She wasn't out of energy. Something was wrong. She had to keep running! She clawed at the wet dirt in front of her. Her legs wouldn't obey her brain, but she had to move.

“So cute,” Shiva said, standing just behind her. “I've always thought you were cute, Sierra. You're cute when you're crying, too.”

“Wait,” the white man said. “There's a bone sticking out of her foot, and you're calling that cute?”

“Maybe I really am a freak,” Shiva said, kneeling beside her niece. “Don't worry, Sierra. I'm doing this for a good cause.”

With that, Shiva pressed her gun against Sierra's forehead. Sierra screamed, rolled to the side, and slammed the tip of her pencil into her aunt's body. She didn't know where it went, but the resulting cry of agony was strangely satisfying. Sierra tried to stand again, but fell when her right foot touched the ground.

She heard a gunshot behind her and put all her strength into a pathetic army crawl. The gun fired again. Shiva shouted something, and the white man screamed. Sierra turned her head just enough to see what was happening. Shiva and Samuel were in a fistfight. Shiva's handgun was lying against a tree a few yards away.

“You traitor!” Shiva screamed. “I have to save my husband, and you're getting in my way!”

Samuel remained silent. At least he was helping her. Sierra resumed her crawl. Not ten seconds later, she heard rapid footsteps and felt a hard jab in her ribs. She attempted another pencil stab, only to see that the tip of her pencil was still lodged in the top of Shiva's ribs.

“I'm only trying to do the right thing,” she said through clenched teeth. She raised her knife and slammed it into Sierra's right wrist. Unable to move with her aunt mounting her, Sierra screamed her lungs out. Shiva turned her head to the side, but kept stabbing with the knife.

“I'd kill you before this,” Shiva shouted over Sierra's cries. “But you stabbed me, and this is only fair!”

Shiva jerked her hand upward. Sierra stopped screaming and stared at her disembodied hand for a moment. Shiva slapped her across the face with it. “Now, I kill you,” she said.

Sierra closed her eyes. Another gunshot sounded, this one closer. She opened one eye. Shiva was, again, fighting the black man, primarily for control over the firearm.

“Maybe I should take your limbs, too!” Shiva shouted. Sierra looked away. Her gaze fell on her bleeding wrist. She'd never be able to replace her right hand, even if she did survive. Her ankle was broken and she only had one hand left. She was only vaguely aware that she was still crying.

She heard a loud crack. Shiva was up again, raising a rock over her head. Her gun was a few feet out of Sierra's reach, but to her, this weapon meant her life. She had to get to it. Whether or not she'd die by the gun later on didn't matter anymore. She pushed with her one good leg and pulled with her good arm. Keeping her right arm off the ground was agonizing, but it was better than dragging her wrist across the ground.

“Stop!” Shiva yelled. Sierra looked up at her. She threw her rock. Sierra felt the ground vibrate beside her head where it landed. She gave one final push and felt cold steel on her palm. She twisted her broken body around, pointed the barrel in Shiva's general direction, and pulled the trigger. The last thing she felt was her aunt's body collapsing on top of her.

EDIT: An article: http://quazen.com/arts/visual-arts/h...ome-art-block/

Wow, that was definitely your best. Is this your BIAM start?