Posts in short story
Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express Part 4

Over the twenty-four hours that followed, I kept a close eye on the the various players with whom I shared First Class. Loelle came out for meals but seemed to spend much of her time resting, either asleep or merely at peace. I had conducted a brief search and discovered that her cargo was five cabins down from ours, safely stowed. It consisted mainly of finely tanned leathers, boxes of furs, linen and several cases of completed clothing. Hoping to reaffirm the dates that her husband had been delivering, sure that they provided the alibi she needed, I performed a little light-fingered reconnaissance into the Notary’s cabin while he ate his breakfast. Sure enough, the dates matched up so that, even had she travelled with her husband on his supply route, she would have been in Rida during the first two murders and still in Zar for the third.

Jef’nerin apparently preferred to spend his meals in his cabin, for I did not see him leave once during the day. For hours I turned the problem around in my head; what was his final project? In the past he had successfully kept his business ventures a secret from me. I had been aware of a shadowy figure behind several of the criminals I had apprehended, but he had never made a formal appearance and I had only been able to garner the faintest suggestions about his manner. To have Jef’nerin laid out for my study like this was… unheard of.

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Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express Part 3

I sat down at my table in the dining cabin and tucked my napkin into my shirt. The smell of pot-roasted beef, spiced rice and some of the tiny onions so common in Koruan food, mixed with hearty baked vegetables, tantalised and tempted me. As our plates were delivered to our tables, I sat back and took a moment to observe my lunchtime companion.

Her name was Loelle, and she was the woman from the compartment next to mine. Having apparently passed a comfortable night, lulled into sleep much as I was by the shushing of the rail, she had dressed in a simple shirt and trouser ensemble with riding boots up to her thighs. Exuding from every pore the attitude of ‘competent adventurer’, she had simply come and sat down opposite me without any preamble as I sampled the Express’s excuse for a coffee.

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Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express Part 2

I walked down through the carriages towards my compartment, opening my senses to every little nuance. There, a woman going to meet her lover without her husband knowing; the tan line on her ring finger, expensive shoes but worn several times and clothing that was of a lesser quality. He’d bought her the shoes and she used them whenever she could; the ring was around her neck on a chain, though. It wouldn’t last long. I passed her by and continued on. A mother and a small boy, the former feigning sleep while the latter stared out the window at the passing landscape. A travelling bard, composing something he hoped would be the next great thing. I winced as he strummed on his lute; it was unlikely, given that one of the strings was a semitone flat. I passed by them all and a dozen others besides.

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Story 6: Murder on the Inira Express Part 1

This story, in six parts, represents the one and only time I will ever write a mystery detective story without first planning every detail. As it was, I deliberately didn't plan any of this and it just kind of tumbled out.

Enjoy!


 

Thirday, Morning.

Shinsun’s Cowl

A courier arrived this morning with a message for me. Apparently my tickets for the Inira Express are ready for me to pick up from the station office. I asked the courier for something official to identify him with, naturally, but he checked out.

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Story 5: The Man with the Amber Finger Part 3

Still marvelling at the feeling, Shep took every opportunity to touch his amber finger to every surface he could. Mardz was right; it was startling how realistic everything felt. There were even other side effects, ones that could be turned to use. Running his finger along a metal railing produced a small shower of blue sparks, as did running it vigorously through his hair. The next person he touched after that, a drunk leaning queasily against a wall, suffered a small lightning shock and jerked upright suddenly. Shep turned around and walked away before he could be identified.

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Story 5: The Man with the Amber Finger Part 2

Waiting. Yet again. Shep cursed the fates that had caused his precious hand to break, forced him to meet with that short drunkard, forced him to wait outside in the drizzle waiting for the engineer, who was already ten minutes late.

It wasn’t even as if the mission had been that hard. Sneak into a minor general’s bedchamber; slip a little extra something into his brandy, the one he always kept by the bed; sneak back out again. Hardly the stuff of legend, but one had to pay the bills. It had been so simple as well. A whore paid to keep the guard busy, but not too busy; a small poisoner’s kit stashed in a bush on the other side of the wall into General Fong’s residence; a quick climb up the drainpipe up to the balcony and in through the window, which was never closed. It had to be while the general was sleeping because he brought the brandy to bed with him and the first thing he did each morning, the drunkard, was have a glass of hair of the dog.

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Story 5: The Man with the Amber Finger Part 1

Shep walked into the bar with his customary swagger, making sure to keep his left hand near the hilt of his dagger. It wasn’t like he expected trouble walking into a dive like this; it was more than he always expected trouble. The shirei’s man was by the bar, of course, dressed in commoner’s clothes but conspicuously not drinking anything. They made such an effort to blend in, Shep thought as he walked to an empty table, but there was always an air of officialdom about them.

He checked the corners quickly; one exit back out on to the street, one either side of the bar itself. The barkeep was keeping to one end of the bar; no doubt his weapon of choice was there. Some of these places could get pretty rowdy at the end of a workday as the farmers and swamp-clearers returned. It wasn’t unheard of for the shirei’s soldiers to mix things up a bit, ensure drinks were purchased and then return later to mop up the overspill.

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Story 4: Circuitous Part 3

Lauren woke up with a gasp. She was still slumped on her chair, but bright sunlight was shining down from the skylight directly on to her. Grimacing, she put a hand up to shade her eyes and rolled her neck, feeling the joints click and grind.

The dream was already fading in her mind, just leaving her with the uneasy impression that something terrible was going to happen and a little damp patch on her shirt where she had dribbled in the night. With a sigh, she set about making breakfast in the tiny kitchenette.

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Story 4: Circuitous Part 2

It was unmistakeable; the tree in front of her was exactly grown in the image of the One Tree; it was easy to check as the silhouette of the One Tree lay on the horizon wherever you . Its leaves glowed slightly, green with a slight golden sheen, and small flowers dotted it, each with a tiny yellow dot in the centre. The bark was pebbled and there was a slight vine-like protrusion, as if something had grown under the bark, spiralling up the trunk.

The cable ran straight into the root system of the tree and disappeared somewhere into the earth. Lauren walked around the wide trunk of the tree, stepping carefully over exposed roots and avoiding patches of long grass. She saw a glimmer of something in the branches and stepped closer to look. She leaned against the trunk and immediately drew back with a gasp.

It was warm.

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Story 4: Circuitous Part 1

Lauren stared at the masked man with no little fear and apprehension. He was stood in front of her doorway, blocking her way back into her workshop and appeared to have no intention of moving. She let go of the sack she was holding and it rattled onto the floor, screws and small brass rods spilling out onto the ground.

“You’re going to have to listen to reason eventually,” the man said. He was dressed in simple farmer’s clothing, a rough cotton shirt and thick trousers tucked in to heavy boots. The mask covered his whole face, a rough-hewn thing to look at; bark fronted with two eyeholes crudely cut out. The edges showed a bit more care though, sanded flat. Three or four pieces of bark made a sort of crown up from the top of the mask. It neatly covered his eyes and nose. He could have been anyone.

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Story 3: Valour

Jorgin stepped back and took a long look around his forge. The light from the morning sun winked off of metal of all shapes, from swords to ploughs; as he grabbed a rag to clean soot and grease from his hands, the big man nodded his head with satisfaction.

He pulled the large heavy leather apron over his head and tossed in onto the anvil. Stretching, Jorgin heard his spine click and he bent backwards, revelling in the feeling of worked muscles. He cricked his head and cracked his knuckles as he walked back to his house, just across the square.

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Story 2: Victor and the Hydra of Lake Ferruco Part 2

Swiftly dodging between bushes and patches of tall grass, Victor pounded down the hill with Valour outstretched. With a bellowing roar he raced up to the side of the creature and drew back for the first, and hopefully last, blow.

With a sound like a whipcrack, one of the sinuous heads lashed around and snatched Valour out of his hands, hurling it some distance away. Victor gasped and skidded to a stop inches away from his intended target. Three of the heads turned away from Jer now, surrounding him evenly. A thin tongue flashed out of one of the immense mouths and snaked around the needle-sharp teeth that filled all the mouths. Even in the darkness, Victor could see the frills that flickered up and down at the corners of the immense mouths, and the dark orbs that served as eyes; the sulphurous stench coming from the six nostrils seemed to fill up all the air, choking him. He glanced over at Jer who was still standing stock still, a damp patch on his trousers.

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Story 2: Victor and the Hydra of Lake Ferruco Part 1

A little explanation for this story:

In Poisonroot, Victor accidentally signed away the rights to his stories and J. R., a travelling bard/minstrel/teller of tall tales, would romanticise them and sell them to the masses. This is one such story.

Essentially, this is in-world fanfic for my own character :D

And now...
 

Victor the Victor in

VICTOR AND THE HYDRA OF LAKE FERRUCO

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Story 1: The Climb Part 5

Part 4: Canopy

26th day of Maia, 1456 AA

Undaunted by the possibility of whatever made that nest, I pressed onwards and write this now from a point which is perhaps my limit, the highest I can hope to climb. It is now so cold that the water in my bottle, which I have thankfully been able to fill via rainfall, snowmelt and finding small pools nestled in the bark, is freezing solid. Little chunks of ice come to my mouth whenever I take a sip, and it cannot be long before it completely freezes.

The wonders have not ceased, though, and they warm the glow in my heart. Several new insect varieties have been observed over the last day, all of them relatively tame. I suppose, never having seen a human before, they have no preconceptions about danger from me.

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Story 1: The Climb Part 4

Part 3 (cont): Branch
 

14th day of Maia, 1456 AA

The air is getting steadily colder the higher up I go. I am now over five miles up, far too far to be looking down too often. I did chance a look, kneeling down on a broad branch and crawling as close to a sharp edge as I dared. Five miles isn’t much; standing on a hill on a clear day I can see for much further. When that distance is beneath you, the effect is startling.

I have made very little in the way of discoveries in the last few days, but I am nearing the clouds. Tomorrow, or the day after, I will pass through them and see what few had seen clearly, and none up close.

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Story 1: The Climb Part 3

Part 3: Branch

 

8th day of Maia, 1456 AA

I write this from what I have dubbed the Foothills of the Arbour. There’s no official name for this, or any of the areas I will be visiting; I suppose we have always been conditioned by our teachings to view the Arbour as a whole being rather than as individual parts. Certainly, were this a mountain, the lowest slopes would be the foothills, and so I name it thus.

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Story 1: The Climb Part 2

Part 2: Trunk
 

20th day of Fendas, 1456 AA

Four days on the road have done wonders for me; alas, I fear that my diary-writing has taken the toll for my efforts. As a researcher and a scientist I must make sure that I keep better records from here on out.

The countryside between Downshire and Daron is truly beautiful; rolling hills with a bracing wind coming down off of them, and the occasional small copse of trees. It’s mostly pasture land, supplying animals for bigger towns like Dotton and Eastwatch, and the forts that sit on the foothills of the Eastern Mountains. I passed a few people on the road, mostly traders; one offered me what I thought was a fair exchange when he brought out a comfortable-looking robe, bright gold thread winking all over it.

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Story 1: The Climb Part 1

Part 1: Root.
 

Taken from the collected diaries of Father Pieter Brennan, recovered from the ruins of the Library of Leaves, Octas 1507 AA.

 

14th day of Fendas, 1456 AA

I had a visitor today. The High Father himself, would you believe, our blessed leader Father Loris. He wished to speak with me in private on a matter of great import. Well, of course I agreed. We adjourned to the cloister and, over a tray of tea and cake brought by one of the acolytes, he laid out his plan.

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The One Tree / It Broke

So, here's a few funny things.

I write a lot. I don't post ANY of it up on here though! The problem? I spend a lot of time planning for my job (primary school teachers write a lot more than you'd think); I spend time making resources; and, the main place my writing goes, I plan, write and resource a weekly Dungeons and Dragons episode. I can't think of a better way of describing it; something punchy, hopefully ending on a cliffhanger or twist of some sort, and something that doesn't keep my players up until all hours.

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100 Themes 037 - Eyes

I wanted to write a sequel to 035 - Hold My Hand but this wasn't quite what I had in mind. It's there, though, and done now.

I'll admit that this is a little loose. There's too many places, it's too bitty, I'm not really sure why Shania came back to see John and it ends with someone's nipple being forcibly embedded in a person's back. But hey, I wrote it and it's staying that way. I'm feeling tired and cold and slightly feeble, and I don't want to go back and rewrite it.

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