(excerpt 1) "Wistful. A fair lady she was." Illuminated optics gazed down at the floor, a rusting, metallic hand on the hilt of his longsword and the other upon the arm of the cushioned wooden chair he sat in. The glitch was clad in armor. A beautiful, silvery set it was with the crest of some old, forgotten house upon the breastplate. The air was filled with exotic incense, the smoke of dried herbs and flowers burning from bowls bedded in river stones. The great red tent was dimly lit by oil lamp, the ground flattened and covered mostly in the trodden furs of various beasts. "Bereft. She was fair of words and wise beyond her years. There were many sweet maidens, yes but… she was a beauty and so much more." He continued to speak with optics locked low in the depths of his own thoughts, the exotically and revealingly clad glitch woman simply standing before him, no longer dancing as earlier requested. "Uncertain. You are sure you have come to the right tent, m'lord?" She asked with her head tilted, violet optics showing concern or… perhaps confusion. "Irritated. Yes, wench! Dance!" He demanded immediately, optics suddenly finding her with a fiery, robotic stare before said exotic dancer began nervously dancing again. "Commanding. And you, boy! More rustwine!" He spoke before mumbling something in a robotic drone, rusting metal hand squeaking as it found purchase of a poorly crafted iron goblet, holding it out. There he trod forward with skin in hand to pour into the goblet, though unlike the metallic beings around him, this one was covered in ruddy brown feathers. An oddity, for sure. Stares followed this one as he drifted from camp to camp, settlement to settlement behind the aging knight. By avian standards, he couldn't have been much older than a dozen or so years. He poured the rusty, oily substance into the goblet with a concerned, almost irritated side glance at the aging knight. "Perhaps if we had more gold to spend fo-" The young avian was interrupted by a robotic, tired groan. "Bored. My young squire…" The knight said in spiritless introduction to the exotic glitch, goblet sloshing in the young avians direction. "Short of stature but not of sardonic wisdom." The avian stared back with wine skin in his talons, blinking expressionless. "Irritated. Did I say for you to stop dancing??" The knight barked as the performing glitch flinched before nervously resuming her outlandish gyrating. Another fantastic investment, the young avian thought, sighing internally as he blankly stared at what little gold he and his great protector had left poorly dancing away. (Anonymous Author)
(excerpt 2) CLANG! Blunted steel swords met in duel upon the hills in the misty moor, the rusting old knight creaking with metal joints scraping and ringing in sound as he turned and swayed, blade swinging swiftly and decisively against the much younger swordsman. They grunted and huffed through their vents with each motion, the younger combatant nervously raising his shield with each strike of the aging knight. "Aggressive. Have you an anvil in that head of yours, boy? FIGHT!!" A glitch bellowed from the small gathering of onlookers. Perhaps no more than a dozen. Peasants, mostly. They murmured synthetic voices to one another as the duel carried on, the moor ringing with a song of CLING! CLANG! In that small gathering there stood a rather peculiar one, a young avian boy. Aside from his smaller stature and obvious, fleshy appearance, he blended in quite well. He wore oversized, plain hand-me-down apparel not unlike the smallfolk, tan hood almost engulfing the entirety of his head. Most of the glitch he encountered seemed to decide he was some strange, miniature floran. 'One of those wood savages… deformed, no doubt.' He often heard them say to each other behind his back with some adjective of curiosity, fear or uncertainty. He knew he was nothing like these glitch but at the same time, knew he was no floran. After years of pondering, he'd simply given up on caring. He stood with the onlookers, blinking in surprise at how loose and able his warden knight was performing in this duel, remembering the events of that early morning. "Demanding. Let-" A robotic grunt escaped the glitch knight as it attempted to wrestle the wineskin from the young avian. "Let go, Flute!" The young squire remembered battling with the sloshing skin in his talons, attempting to pull away with it. He fell into the high grass beside the robotic mare, wineskin now freely in the knights hand. "Cocky. You would have your champion duel unprepared? Have you learned nothing in our short time together?" The Knights voice rang in what he'd recognized to be glitch laughter. He propped himself up from the dirt on his elbows, watching helplessly as the knight poured the foul rustwine down his gullet, much of the oily substance dribbling out the sides of his intake and down his unpolished armor. Flute had been certain that would be the end of this duel and the end of what few coins the unlikely pair had but… He was proven quite wrong. The duel had ended with the young combatant yielding in the dirt, Flute clapping his talons excitedly before sheepishly lowering them at the groans of his fellow onlookers. He watched as they mumbled in dissatisfaction, leaving a tiny fortune of copper coins in the sack of the bookie. He curtly thrust the jingling sack towards young Flute, the avian fighting the urge to whoop and leap in the excitement of it all as he took the prize. "Dispirited. To the victor, Sir Hamish of Ironbluff…" The bookie officially announcing the winner, Flute gleefully handing over the coin purse to the rusting knight. "Smug. We should do this again, aye?" Ham chortled, breathing heavy from his vents as the bookie stared irritably at him, giving a dismissive wave before turning and following the small crowd away and back to their hamlet. "Confident. See what happens when you trust your warden?" He said, tousling the young avians fledging crest from beneath his hood before sauntering back to his pawing mare in the field, Flute keeping in tow. Finally, he thought, cheeks raised high in joy… a meal better than glorified pig slop. "Boastful. More rustwine, then! And Wenches!" The knight boomed in laughter, successfully getting a rise from his squire. (Anonymous Author)
Original poster, Would you at all mind if I posted excerpts from my old friend's book? He was an Avian Grounded, had a way with words. -Ernal
Alright. I had to transcribe by hand into Starnet, so it took me a bit... his novel is titled 'The Poppy Grove'. “Ixta looked at him funny, with a tilted gaze. Her head was lopsided as the sun beat down on it, as if the very air was its own weight. She spoke but then un-spoke as soon as she had, for she realized what awful lack of words the moment required, and as luck would have it, there was a certain enchanting ability of her voice to pull back like an animal on strings. It wasn’t a very lucky ability to have, and sometimes encouraged her further to be rash and yell, yet it saved her from a smack or two from Mother and Father when she was younger, much younger than she was now, as leader of these ships which would soon leave Avos, as she could say whatever she liked without consequence-- a habit that took many years to grow out of. She settled into the soil a bit further and stopped looking at him funny, and waited for the sun to rise as quiet as it had left. She imagined that her voice was not the marionette but that the sun was, and that she could lift it up and down at will, trace it back and forth, see back when Avos had its first beginnings and make changes or not-make-changes, and regardless see why things had happened and why people had arrived in the first place. Then she discarded the thought with her reins of strings, and tried to think about something more tangible, like the young man beside her and the way he did not stir when the ground did. An admirable quality which she had tried many times to voice and failed; and retired her words and tried again; and retired her words and tried again. He seemed in tune so thoroughly with the soil that it was unbelievable he was anything but a statue with roots that led to the planet’s iron core, and as the sun rose he lapped it up with such satisfaction it was impossible to believe he was anything but a gold-feathered flower blooming and dancing without wings.” - Chapter I (Exile of Ixta) “In his early years he was very much a songbird, or lazy bird-- his parents could never decide which. He had been born under the heavy Mud gravity and at first would not stir for hours at a time, laying flat and limp as a hatchling between the age of three and four, which very much gave the impression that Tesz was an inactive child, despite his wide-open eyes and big beak that loved to chitter and sing playfully. Somehow even as his energy came back and he could stumble around and run around with excitement, there was a reserved quality which kept him in the back still cooing the words of his current song, traditionally adopted from the robin-saturated choir near town center. There were often large celebrations saturated with the last of the Avosian wartwine and roasted local wildlife, fish and fruit, dark green surface kelp made presentable with the help of eggplant, all astrew on those sturdy wooden tables built by the hands of Mud’s workers. For these Tesz would approach and take whatever food he thought he needed, and ask the nearest elder where it had come from before popping it in his beak and squawking about such things. He would take and eat and ask until his belly was full, and retreat to pursue his passion of music, whether with the two-string plank mother had made him, or his soft, playful voice. This was his method of meeting the green-feathered Meddo and fuchsia-feathered Nefer, two older hatchlings who admired the gentle chirping of his call, and his abject terror when he was found to be chittering such things which were meant to be quite private. These two paid it no mind and laughed, and assured Tesz that it was worth snooping to hear his pretty songbird voice, and though Tesz was not a songbird he became accustomed to laughing and agreeing. Over some two years he developed more comfort in these things, and as the initial optimism of landing on Mud faded in favor of bigger and better things, and the celebrations with wartwine and fish tapered off, Tesz sang on his own accord with newfound friends-- wherever they happened to roam in the still-developing downtown.” - Chapter II (Exile of Avos) “Ixta had grown, and her feathers had worn, but in the faint mirror reflection of Waterdipper Lake she recognized herself again, as if pulled by strings. Slow as she viewed herself she realized why she was there, with more clarity than ever before. She realized precisely why she had left Avos, and at the same instant understood why Avos had grown, and why Mud had begun heartily before its stagnation, in her aging eyes. It was that seeking nature of her clawing talons, toward a place which would treat her and her son right, a place where life could grow as it had seemed to stagnate. Her desire for the poppy grove and the poppy flower had led her to build a city of a thousand Avians, and now the desire had faded in favor of those minor conflicts like domestic disputes and internal economy. Perhaps it was a vice to search for the nectar in the flower, and nowadays she viewed it as such-- but it was the only thing which had kept her alive.” - Chapter XI (Exile of Niloticus) -Ernal
Pretty words. I thank you for sharing this and tell your friend that I enjoyed it. Perhaps he would have more for me! :v Peace and Grace, - I
(excerpt 3) He'd been lost in his thoughts on this endless road, sitting sideways on the rump of the great mare Sir Hamish straddled. The sun was only a distant orange glow, the pair having rode through the night. So often in this great span of passing time he felt melancholy, remembering bygone days. The young avian had been much smaller then. There were times he had to polish the metallic bodies of the castle steeds and times to clean up after their waste. Times to harvest automato, currentcorn and other crops he found more palatable. He'd been doing these things for as long as he remembered. "Impatient. Quickly, Flute!" those farmers, stablemen and otherwise would say. Flute… that was another thing he'd remembered. During times of great gathering he found himself in the castle mead hall. He helped along with the servants, gathering dishes and preparing meals but when the moment had come, he'd always been asked to stand at the great table. There would be silence... The robotic eyes of lords and ladies, knights and noblemen watching as the young avian whistled tender melodies through the hall. No bard known, at least to this castle could blow his instrument or pluck his strings so sweetly. He took no pleasure from onlookers awe. Singing was simply something deep in him. He had to sing, just as he needed air. It was why he'd been given the name he had, Flute knew. Of all those who lived in that castle, it was the young maids who loved him most. Unlike some traveling crooners, Flute wanted nothing from them and to his embarrassment, they begged him daily to sing a chivalrous lullaby or two. He could feel the sometimes unbearable heat rush to his face as they stood about him, the lot of them imploring together. Despite the warnings of the castle knights and guards, they showered little Flute in affection and gifts, adoration and love. Where had they all gone, he found himself asking in these bitter moments. What had become of them? The only sound for hours had been the steady clopping of hooves on the empty road until Sir Hamish began to hum some unknown tune. It was a droll sound, Flute thought. Had those castle maid heard, they would laugh for certain. The thought forced a snort from his beak. "Amused. Is my tune so terrible, boy?" The old knight turned his head with a creak to glance at his squire, Flute simply staring out into the rolling hills. Despite that giant hood which engulfed the majority of the avians egg head, Sir Ham still saw a bitter happiness on his face. "Sing, then! Let us hear what you're named for!" He said, chortling in his own glitch way as he observed the sudden look of dread Flute gave him. The little squire quickly shook his head, looking back down at the beaten path beneath them. "Mocking. You are a deceiver! I am certain even I am a better singer!" Ham said confidently to Flutes dismay, scowling eyes burning holes through the knight as he laughed. "You are not, sir!" The avian finally spoke, puffing up defensively. "Amused. Oh? Let us hear you, then! You'd like to hear, wouldn't you?" Ham said to the back of his mares head, giving the metallic beast a gentle pat behind the neck. Flute remained quiet. "I suppose it will just be me!" He said with confidence before bellowing out some ballad. The Jester King, Flute recognized despite the Knights awful howling. The sound had continued for some minutes before the little squire interrupted. "Fine! I will sing if you stop, sir!" He whined, Sir Hamish quieting as he waited patiently. He waited… and waited… Still then, there was no song. His neck whined with rust as it turned to look back on his squire, only surprised to see the boy trembling, beak shut tight. A sigh escaped his vents, slowly shaking his head as he turned forward again. "Apologetic. You have your reasons, I am sure. I won't ask you to sing." He said quietly, unclipping the wineskin from his belt and offering it back to the child to no avail. Silence. By now there were few stars left to see, the mountains on the horizon crested in golden light. "Pensive. I was almost kept from knighthood." He started, his robotic voice without the brash tone it so often carried. More silence. "I had been scared to mount a steed since I'd been thrown off as a squire. He reflected for a moment. "My brothers all laughed and I hadn't the courage to try again." The knight admitted. "When time came to joust, I feigned ill, hid, anything." Sir Hamish scoffed, staring down at his mare, she faithfully marching through the gentle hills. "I hardly had the luxury of time to put that fear behind me but I did. Confident. You will come around, I'm sure. So long as you're my squire, you will be well looked after." By now, the day had long since broke, silence now filled with rustling trees, the mares steady pace and a sweet humming.
