Kingmaker Magic Excerpt

Loria hadn’t expected it to look like sludge, or to smell so rancid.

“Are you sure you got it right?” she asked, eyes locked on the oozing material.

The short trader glanced up at her with a smirk. “It ain’t no classy type, I’ll give ya that. But it be real, no doubts there.”

Loria nodded. She could fuss all day about it, and maybe she’d do so later, but she’d already paid the trader, and she wasn’t turning back. She took a good long breath before reaching out to touch it.

The mud-like sludge was warm and reactive, smoothing out at her touch, conforming to the shape of her hand. Loria closed her eyes and pushed down on it. The material covered her hand and a bit of her lower arm. The warmth spread through her and grew hottest where the sludge met her skin.

Then came a painful sensation, a thousands of pinpricks on her hand made her shutter and grind her teeth. It was exactly the experience she’d been promised, but it was so real. She pulled at her hand instinctively, but it was stuck in the sludge.

Loria wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but the pain eventually subsided and her hand came loose. With a sigh of relief, she ripped it free, breaking apart the now dry sludge.

After massaging her hand, Loria held it up before her eyes, inspecting it carefully. Nothing appeared different about it, but she could feel a difference. There was a weight there, a dangerous implication attached.

Loria turned to the trader. “I would like to test it.”

“Figured as much, me lady.” He led her to a corner of the room. There he moved a small, false door, no bigger than a necklace case.

Loria crouched down by it. “Here?”

The trader nodded. “No one will notice it.”

Reaching out with her affected hand, she placed her palm on the ground in the niche. She wasn’t sure what to expect, only that she would recognize it.

As soon as her first finger touched the surface of the ground, she drew a sharp breath from a new sensation. She felt the ground there, in a way she could never explain. A wave of attachment to the land beneath her hand started. It was more than just a hunk of earth now, it felt real to her. And that small piece of the world was hers.

And it was growing too, she could feel more and more of the space around her fingertips joining it, unifying into some mass in her subconscious.

“Enough there lass. Ya satestified?”

Loria gasped and lifted her hand off. She hadn’t wanted to remove her hand. It was so… refreshing, enlivening.

“By the look of it, ya got what ya wanted. Now ya better hurry off. Lucky lass I’d bargain with, ya ask me. I ain’t too fond of a ladyship ove’ me land, but anythin’ better than that ol’ Harnigan. Ya got me right on that.”

Loria smiled at the little man. After so long looking, she’d finally done it.

She was a Kingmaker.

Evron - History of the Villain

Evron doesn’t remember his childhood. And not in the typical forgetful way most people do. No, Evron has lost his memory of those days. All of those memories were deemed insignificant to his master, so there was no effort to keep them

At a certain impressionable age, Evron began developing his own language, particularly a way of writing, so that his thoughts could be recorded without the fear of prying eyes.

Every morning he practiced the language, reading and writing it, keeping journals just to make sure it did not leave him. His memories are in danger because every memory can become fuel for his magical ability, a power and kind of people called the Lawless.

It is because Evron and those like him are not bound by the law, at least not the law of the mind. Lawless can toy with the minds of others, as long as they are willing to pay the price.

Every lie, no matter if the victim accepts it, will cost the Lawless a memory or two, depending on the strength of the lie. Some Lawless feed a number of lies, all tied together into a big lie, one that is harder for the victim to resist. But that kind of power comes at a price.


After becoming dangerously good with his lies, Evron was put on a special mission from his master--breaking the Somilen Council. Evron slunk into shadows that night, making sure to keep out of sight, only using his lies when it was necessary. He had to save his strength for the Council.

He found each member, sleeping in their chambers. With each of the council members, he dug deep, producing powerful lies in each of their minds. Lies that would bring them into conflict with one another.

And, as his master wished, he took the one named Jyre, with the masterful mind that he had, and planted seeds of control. These thoughts would led him to rule of Somilen. Evron had no doubt that Jyre would seize the opportunity when he saw how conflicted the council had become. Somilen needed a leader, and Jyre would fill that role.

After returning, Evron found that he’d drained most of his adolescent memories. Like his younger childhood, there was little left he could recall. But this time he wasn’t worried. His master did not make any effort to help Evron keep those memories, but Evron had. He had recorded diligently into his journal, written in a language only he could understand, the events that had transpired.

With only a brief discussion with his master, Evron hurried up to his study and retrieved the first volume of his journals, excited to rediscover his memories. Ready to feel all the highs and lows he’d experienced all over again.

That night, he read through three entire volumes of his life. He didn’t sleep. He kept at it all night, diving through day after day of his lost memory.

By morning, he held a permanent scowl. Nothing felt right. Not one of the memories he’d read felt like his. All night went by, and nothing connected with him. Who was this imposter, who claimed to be Evron. Evron never found love, like the one written in the journal. Evron never cried and cried, like the Evron did so frequently on the pages he read.

Someone had taken his journals and changed them. Changed them to someone else…

It was then that Evron found that he was no one. The only memories he had left were things ingrained in him from the daily practices, and even those felt lacking of repetition.

Full of rage, Evron approached his master.

“Where are they?” Evron yelled. “Where are my memories?”

The master huffed. “You very well know what happens to memories. You’re a Lawless.”

“But I wrote them down. I have my life on paper. That should be enough--”

“Bah!” The master hacked out a few coughs. “Like writing down anything would work! It is the same as making up new memories, ones that never happened, and pretending they are yours. Someone else may read them and believe it, but you will always know that they are a lie.”

“But I know I wrote them as they happened! How can it feel like they didn’t? I know I wrote the truth, but somehow it feels like those memories don’t belong to me.”

“Don’t be naive boy.” The master walked to a low mantle, and lifted a book with a torn cover. “There is no escaping the cost of your power. No escaping it. Do you understand?”

Evron was left without words to say. All of his memories, everything that made him Evron, was gone.

Evron tightened his hands into fists. “You knew,” he said, taking a step forward. “You knew this would happen!”

The master turned, regarding Evron with some apprehension.

Evron felt the fire build within him. “You knew and you sent me anyway. You knew I would destroy all the memories I had, just like I’d done with my childhood!”

“Listen here, Evron.” The master trembled. “It was necessary.” He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “You think your the first Lawless to lose his memories, I once--”

“I don’t care what happened to you!”

The master stumbled, knocking against the mantle. Trinkets and books fell to the floor.

“You should’ve warned me! Those memories were precious to me! If I’d known…” Evron felt his body loose tension. “If I’d known what would happen…” Why… why did I do this?

“You wouldn’t have done what I’d asked,” the master finished. “You’d have run away, or done something else rash.”

Evron felt numb. If only he had known. What would I do? What would the old Evron do?

The master stepped away from the wall. “The Somilen Council will dissolve because of your sacrifice Evron. The entire nation was on the path to collapse. We've grown lazy, focused on riotous living instead of power. The wars we fight with the Trene are nothing to the Council. And now they throw parties even at a loss in battle. We need change. The Lawless live above all these things, we plant seeds for change for a future we can believe in.”

Evron gripped a chair. It was his master's chair, one of the few memories left in a small life Evron remembered. That chair felt precious to him now. It was something that he could remember. Something that he could hold onto.

He held it tightly for a moment. Taking a moment to be grateful that he had some memories left. Then he lifted the crudely crafted chair, and threw it against the wall, inches from his master.

I will make new memories.

His master shouted in dismay.

Evron smiled. It was a new smile, for a new Evron. And from the expression on his master’s face, one of pure terror, it was exactly the kind of smile Evron had hoped it would be.

 “You may think that you know what is best for Somilen, master, but I know what is best for me.”
Evron reached into his cloak and retrieved a dagger. One thing he knew, and had ingrained so many times into his mind that he could never forget it, was that a Lawless has lost as soon as someone wants to kill them. No lie, however constructed, could get past the rage of a vengeful one.

The brightest memory in Evron’s mind of his master was his last.

Yutara - Bibliography Attempt #1

The first time I punched a guy was probably as a nine-year-old. I don’t remember much about it, but the climax was him calling my parents a name, my loving, dead parents, and me finishing it, knocking him cold out. I left that day with a broken hand and a fire raging in me.

I can’t say I remember my parents much, but I do have my pride. And I think I love them, as much as a person can for people she doesn’t much remember. Maybe I just love the idea of them, like my brother says.

In any case, starting at nine, I found that I had a bit of a temper, and a resilient spirit. Not that I like to brag about it, at least not the temper part, but I like to be honest when I can.

As my brother and I grew up under the supervision of the Imperial ward, we both got into plenty of trouble. And no, not the kind of trouble where we make mischief and such, but the kind of trouble that came looking for us. You see, we were great targets for bullies. Who didn’t want to pick on the half-bloods? Easy prey. And since half-bloods were rare enough, we were the only ones in our little ward.

My brother tried to play it off well. He’d always been cool headed and such, but me, not a chance.
The easiest way to blow off some steam and rille up one of the snot-nose brats was to remind them that they parents didn’t want them. That’s how most of the kinds ended up under the watch of the Imperial ward.

Yes, it sure did get them burning up, about ready to go on a rampage on my face.

It was those times I steeled up and waited for my brother to save me. But… that didn’t always go as planned.

----

One time somewhere around twelve or so, I’d gotten a whole mess of boys made at me for something snarky. I’m sure I’d just thrown it out there for no good reason. And I should’ve counted the number of them or remembered that my brother wasn’t around before I opened my mouth.

I steeled up real quick, forming the shape of a sparring staff. Probably could’ve chosen something smaller, but I liked trying out new shapes at that age.

So, I spent most of the day being carried around, and the boys made an effort to smack me into anything and everything, probably hoping to wear me out enough to get me phazed out and back to human.

Fortunately, I was a pretty resilient Steel, so I held up under the pressure until they got bored and tossed me in the river. The one off the east side of the mountain.

Of course it was the frigid season, so I shivered and swam, making my escape from the bullies. Ended up with a devilish cold that lasted for days.

My brother came back that night and was furrious, even when I admitted that it was my own fault. That was the last day we spend with the Ward. My older brother had got us a place to board with the stipend he’d received joining up with the Steel Imperials. He somehow got lucky enough to become a Steelhand for a friend he’d made growing up. No one was as lucky as my brother. He was smart and funny. Sometimes it annoyed me, him acting so perfect all the time. But I still loved him to death, even if I avoided saying it.

----

After joining the Steel Imperials, my brother wasn’t around much. With all the wars going on, it was no surprise. I often found myself sitting alone, missing him. It was then I decided that I was going to join the Steel Imperials, as a Steel. My brother may have been too weak in our nation's magic, but mine was strong. If I succeeded, I would be the first half-blooded Steel in the Steel Imperials for generations.

The Poison Game

Drinking poison had turned out more entertaining than Vahn had imagined.

He sat a small table, tucked away in the tiny kitchen of the local blacksmith, holding
another cup of poison. Hemlock, or something of that nature. He wasn’t sure if the taste or the
effects were worse.

Beside him sat that very blacksmith, a hulk of a fellow with a temper to match his size.

Best if he used that rage at work rather than play.

All around them were townspeople, along with Vahn’s co-conspirator, Easton. His you
friend gave Vahn a concerned look, but Vahn ignored it. Instead, he gripped his cup with a
steady hand, waiting for the blacksmith to call for another round.

The blacksmith took a hard look at Vahn before raising his own cup. “Again,” he said.

Both he and Vahn raised their cups, eyeing each other to check if they backed down.

With cups to their lips, there was a final moment, a last chance, but neither would yield. Heads
were tipped and the poisons gulped down for the third time that night.

Vahn immediately set his own cup down and tried to breathe easy, but he couldn’t. His
breath grew ragged and his heart ached. His hands trembled and his eyes strained. He
clenched his jaw, waiting for his body to fight it.

It didn’t take long. The Valoa inside him began to act. His own life-force, his very life
itself, went to work to neutralize the poison. Within moments, his breathing evened out and all
the tension he felt melted away.

Even if his body had handled it, Vahn knew it came at a price, for no one had an
unlimited supply. Enough cups of poison would kill any man. And each drop would steal a bit of
precious life, bringing the end of a once full life ever closer to the present.

Vahn craned his neck over at the blacksmith. The beard man looked worn. Both the
blacksmith and Vahn had their pride on the line, along with their lives. Was one greater than the
other?

Silence held the room for the length of a long breath, ending when the blacksmith
pounded the table. Without a word, he stood, spun about, and marched away.

Vahn drew his lips into a grin. The game was over.

Twisted Jackal Scene

“Valoa, the energy of life, filling all living things, large and small. Both the essence of life and a tool for death... why o’ why, would the Gods make our lives fuel for magic” -- Aurith Kiv-way

A single torchlight lit the camp, casting a glow over two sleeping soldiers and a dozen tents. Easton crouched in the bushes, his friend Vahn beside him.

“It’s simple,” Vahn whispered. “Shield stab the big one, and I’ll spear the other.”

Easton eyed him. It wasn’t a bad plan, if they were quiet about it, but these were trained soldiers. Quick fix tactics weren’t bound to work on them.

“Two spears,” Easton said. “Mine first, at the base of the torch, then yours to spin it.”

Vahn grinned. “I see you’ve come to rely on my aim too much. Hoping to set the camp aflame? What about the crystals?”

“We can’t carry the whole wagonload. I don’t care what happens to the rest.”

“You’d say differently if they were flesh-fed.”

Easton glared at Vahn.

He shrugged. “Just saying. It’s still a waste, even if they are plant-fed crystals.”

“Like you’re one to talk. You’re no earth-hugger.”

Vahn chuckled. “Maybe I could be, given time. People been changing faith ever since the Fissure. Who’s to say what I believe?”

Easton rolled his eyes, turning back to the camp. The guards were still asleep. Reaching under his shirt, he slipped out a glowing crystal that dangled from a chain necklace. Placing a single finger atop, he it slid across the crystal’s glassy surface . A stream of dark, forest colored energy followed, collecting and building as it emptied from the crystal. It filled the space Easton gave for it, forming a handle of energy that extended further out as he pulled at it, even when his finger left the surface of the small crystal.

When finished, he held up a glowing spear. It felt lightweight, yet solid, and Valoa flowed inside the invisible container, with small bits of the green energy rising from the surface like smoke from a fire.

After appraising his work, Easton glanced at Vahn, who already held his own spear at the ready. His weapon, though smaller, was sleek and confined, leaking enough energy to show it was packed tight with Valoa.

Vahn took a gander at Easton’s work as well. First looking at his weapon, and then at the crystal he’d used, now dangling over his cloak.

“Your crystal’s dimming, Easton. You’d better fill it soon.”

Easton tucked the necklace under his shirt. “We’ll have plenty of crystal to spare after this; besides, we don’t have time to fill it.”

Focusing on the camp, Easton stared at the base of the torch. Rising from the bush, he pulled back the spear. Simple enough, he thought, and let it fly. Vahn stood right beside him, taking aim and losing his own spear. They both came to impact at nearly the same time. Easton’s spear hit its mark, piercing the foundation of the torch. Following after, Vahn’s hit the top, sending the flaming torch spiraling towards the sleeping guards.

Easton and Vahn took cover in the bush, watching the flame pass by the men and collide with the first tent. Soon, smoke poured from the tent flap, and flames licked the ground, snaking through the grass to the surrounding tents.

Whether it was the sound of the breaking torch stand, the heat of the fire, or the sounds of others in alarm, the guards woke from their slumber to an inferno. Hysteria had broken through the camp, soldiers running to and fro in an effort to control the flames

Easton and Vahn crawled across the foliage, keeping their eyes on the frantic soldiers. Circling to the far side of the camp, they crept over to the supply stash. The soldiers had a number of carts filled with provisions. They searched through the carts, lifting tarp coverings until Vahn found their target. The cart had a few barrels of crystal, along with a collection of weapons, blunted swords and otherwise.

“Look at this stash.” Vahn grinned at Easton. “With this cart alone, we could supply the federation with all it needs.”

Easton snatched a handful of crystals and shoved them in a light knapsack. “I doubt it would last long, given the milita crackdowns lately. A huge stash would only make it easier for them to sniff out. Fill your sack and we’ll split.”

Vahn ignored Easton, sneaking away. Easton cursed. Enough of your games, come on… If they hadn’t grown up together, Easton would’ve ditched, but he was compelled to stay.

After filling his pouch, he started to search for Vahn. The shouts about the fire were starting to die down. They had to get off before the soldiers figured out the source of the fire.

The sounds of a horse startled Easton, and he dove beneath one of the carts.

“Easton,” came a whisper from near the cart of crystal.

He slid out and climbed to his feet. Vahn had secured a horse and was in the process of lashing it to the cart.

“Are you crazy!” Easton whispered. “We don’t have time to take the cart. The horse can’t run with a full load. What if they spot us?”

Vahn grinned. That same twist of a smile that irked Easton with a feeling of hopelessness. The man was so stubborn.

“Don’t fret,” he said, “I’ve already loosed their horses and set them off. They won’t keep up with us.”

“What if they have a Sniffer?”

“Then we’ll deal with him. Besides, we haven’t drained any plants nearby. They’ll have no scent.”

“Except for the barrels of crystal loaded with Valoa. Who knows where they filled them. They could’ve hit up anything in this pissing forest! That’ll give them a potent scent.”

“Only taking a few handfuls doesn’t change that.”

“They won’t be the wiser with a few missing, but they will, with the whole cart gone.”

Vahn huffed and climbed atop the horse. “I’ll meet you in town then.”

Easton groaned. “I hate you sometimes.” He climbed into the back of the cart. “Let’s get going already.”

Vahn slapped down the reigns and the horse pulled forward. Easton slumped in the cart, resting his hands and head down on the back lip. Watching the camp fade away, he prayed that they’d make it back to the federation.

Sisters Grace Prologue

Jasmine and I have been ‘switching’ for as long as I can remember.  But I can’t think of anything happening before turning six so that’s probably when it all started.  

What we have to share with you is a story about when the drama began.  We had grown up so used to switching bodies to our own advantage that it had become second nature to us.  Like any close sisters, we had plenty of fights and yelling matches (and yes, I was the one who did most of the yelling).  But it wasn’t until my senior year at high school (and Jasmine’s sophomore year) that we had a real falling out.

In my own opinion, it all started when my sister first laid eyes on Justin, but she doesn’t really agree.

It’s not like I can change who I fall in love with!  I only watched him at first.  It wasn’t until–

Yes, yes, you’ve told me already.  Continuing on.  

The start of our story takes place at the beginning of my last semester at school.  After only a single week of school after the break, Mr. Clements thought we should have a good refresh of anxiety—so he scheduled a test to come the following day.