Another Sliver

Gazing out over the broad field known in ancient times as Mhalak, Tiberius released a deep breath of anticipation as he scanned the barren flat for the waiting enemy. Clad in a breastplate of polished electrum with chiseled muscles with an unbound eagle in the center, the sacred eagle clasped a sword in its talons and arrows in its beak with a laurel crown overhead, the young Consul rested a hand on the pommel of the sword at his left hip. An emerald cloak clasped to the armor adorned with the golden lion's warhide across his shoulders signified him as having total imperium over the army. He assumed a wide stance atop the ridge overlooking Mhalak, right hand holding his helmet to his breast. 
"The Vith are moving, Consul," said the regent to his right. "Your troops are lagging in mobility." 
Allowing the corner of his mouth to crook up slightly, Tiberius released a snort. "Well ordered troops bring a swifter victory, King of Lorica. Charging into a wild fray invites doom. I'm sure your Emperor is familiar to it." 
Ignoring his insult as purely jest, Aresthenes chuckled instead to his dismay. "I am unaware of what the Emperor is familiar to, as I am king of my country. I defend my people ferociously, Consul." 
Looking at the king with his icy gaze, Tiberius admired his grizzled face. Covered with numerous scars which criss-crossed his visage in savage patterns, it appeared as though his head had been chewed on and spat out by some beast which found him distasteful. The old king's right eye was a dark green while the left appeared a milky blue-green, possibly affected from the scar which passed from his eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose. He had to have warred his whole life, Tiberius thought. "I am aware by your countenance, King. Know that we are allies on good terms and for a common goal."
"I am aware, Consul. I pray the gods to smile favorably on this day, for my kingdom, and your republic." Aresthenes wore his battle-scarred breastplate of steel, marked by the many foes he smite in years before. His short dark beard streaked with white extended to his long mane tamed into several warrior braids about his head with the rest hanging to the middle of his shoulder blades. His build was sturdy and heavily muscled with scars splayed across his exposed skin on arms and thighs.
Tiberius nodded in agreement to the king's humility and reverence of the gods. "I have prayed as well, my friend. The gods have blessed us, for the time."
"Then let us commence and further our march."
Just then the Margrave of the Ring approached, his eyes downcast and sunken. "The Imperial Knights are on the move. Consul, King, the armies await."
Aresthenes set his helmet in place, pulling down the visor of a lifeless face over his own. He retrieved his spear and pounded his knuckles forcefully against his breastplate. "And so it begins."
"And so it shall," Tiberius replaced his helmet, the transversal crest adorned with emerald dyed horse hair, and nodded to his captain who in turn barked orders to his men in a harshly disciplined voice.
The trumpets sounded and the vanguard legions began their advance. ©

Excerpt from my as yet untitled book, 28-MAR-11
Julius

Histories

I've found that writing history for a fantasy novel is exciting as the creative bounds are endless, so long as you keep your facts straight. It's easier when you keep telling yourself that it really happened, in your imagination. It's like making your own mythology to support your story. It can be a little difficult at times on days I'm just drained and the creative juices are running a tad low, but  usually inspiration comes from a bit of meditation, and voila!  

Next

It's kind of wierd, writing in this way. I wonder how it will affect me and my journey, and possibly help or alter my story. It's funny how grand ideas like writing can be so influenced by even the smallest of events or remarks, and create even better masterpieces as evidenced throughout history. I hope to include my works among those some day soon. I seek to create a work of art blending many elements of history-inspired events, entities, mythology, and pure fantasy. It's kind of like the Holy Roman Empire and the Roman Republic meet a theogony inspired realm of nightmarish beasts, creatures, and legendary figures. Come aboard, and hold on tight!

Just a sliver

Holding the ceremonial staff tightly in one hand, Tiberius listened as the foreign emissaries began their salutation to this historically rare session of the Senate. His icy blue eyes narrowed at the old king who spoke and the knight beside him, who stared right back.


"Greetings from his Holy Imperial Majesty, the King of Annexus and of all the Kaczardans, the Duke of Lower West Drogovia, and Prince of the Northern March, Emperor Ludoric-"


Tiberius' face remained stoic as he interrupted. "He is not here. Who are you?"


Unflinching yet clearly vexed, the old man responded just as powerfully. "I am Ceowulf, Duke of the Eastern Bhairdoff, and Elector, and King in Eisenburg. I come before you-"


"King in? Why not king of?" Tiberius stifled a slight smile so as not to offend those of the Senex. His recent outbursts clearly worried many members of the Senate, particularly those of the Juvex portion. Regardless, he was fiercely patriotic and strived to establish this with the foreigners to show that he would not be easily manipulated.


Well seasoned in politics himself, Ceowulf shook his head slightly and continued in the same tone. "Clearly my titles are of no concern here, and bear no interest on the matter of which I am presenting to you, Consul, and the members of your Senate."


The tension increased tenfold as the senators murmured amongst themselves before Tiberius struck the marble floor with his staff several times to bring the chamber to order, drawing annoyance from the elder consul to his left. Once the chamber was silent, Tiberius pointed to the narrow channel running between the two sides and through the atrium, continuing outside and into the streets of the capital. It was several feet deep and just as wide, and none of the senators would come within more than ten feet of it. "This is the extreme border of our Pomerium, and I, Metellus Tiberius, Western Consul am the Protector of it. Our Senators are forbidden to cross this sacred boundary. You are on the edge of the most precious district of our capital, and are therefore subject to our proceedings, offensive or not." Nodding slightly, Ceowulf continued in his same tone. "I am well-aware that you all know why I am here. If we could continue, our differences aside, then we will soon discover if my journey has been fruitful." Meeting his icy gaze, Ceowulf nodded to Tiberius, his own eyes exhibiting the respect he had developed in the years since his coronation for foreign leaders. "On my own part, I implore you."




The elder consul broke his silence, grasping his own ceremonial staff. "I am Licinius Hylas, Eastern Consul and Defender of the Capital. We are willing to hear you, King in Eisenburg, but according to our proceedings." 


"Of course, Consuls. After all, we have come to you."© ©

The Toils

The work of the chapters is underway and moving like an avalanche. It's so exciting to be underway. I've spent many years chipping, honing, fine-tuning, and rearranging the details and story itself that it's entirely different from what I had originally envisioned. Very little has survived from my original idea that it could possibly be a future project to tinker with after this one is published.

The journey was maddening as I changed characters, locations, and the plot after envisioning something newer and better. And now I finally have it. Epiphany!

Prologues

I enjoy using prologues to help set a story up, particularly for the deeper plot further in the novel. It's very helpful for setting the tone as well.

I recently finished my prologue with great success! My willing test subjects were drawn into it with growing interest. They complimented the vivid detail used to bring the scene to life and the emotions felt by the young boy, Wulfgar, as he searched the ruins of his village for his father or anyone who may have survived. His feelings of guilt and utter lonliness as his fruitless search drags on until he is met by someone unexpected. Those who destroyed his village feature prominently as the main antagonists, though little information is given about them as he knows very little of them.

I am thus far pleased with my progress, having drawn in interested readers. But there's still much more to do, and far to go...

Moment of Truth

Onward! Years of planning and working have culminated to a point of singularity: the start of the long and winding journey toward publication. It could be something that might end in capitulation to the idea that 'I'm not good enough', or 'I'll never make it because...', or end in success. Like any journey for any purpose in life it will be long, difficult, and maddening at times. But it's worth working very hard for.

Having so many ideas for stories and poetry over the years led to a final moment of truth: write or daydream. I've decided to push forward and work toward the goal of publication because I feel so compelled to tell my stories. I've labored and edited my ideas to the point that they are finally ready to be put on paper.

Inspiration

I draw inspiration from most anything throughout my day, but found my most effective springs to be both solitude in mind and situational luck. I tend to delve deeply into my own thoughts, fully immersing myself in the world which I am creating on the page and can thus transcribe what I see, feel, taste, hear, and smell for the scene. It's a combination of a real life experience but another time, place, or environment. My situational luck tends to be more profound, kind of like an epiphany. For instance: I was taking the garbage out on a cold New Year's Eve morning and noticed that the way the early sunlight reflected my icy surroundings sharply contrasted the fast-moving, low, sporadic cloud cover which I likened to a situation of smoke and fire which features prominently in the prologue of one of my books. It was a real Aha! moment.

At times I've even combined the two to conjure really evocative scenes that speak volumes to me as I'm writing them. It distracts me at the same time, like I'm sitting right in the middle of it, describing what I am seeing. It can be fun and a little scary at times. But I love to do it. It's my outlet as a picture on a canvas for a painter, or bust for the sculptor; the difference being that I am telling you how to paint or sculpt what I am seeing. That's why I love reading, and by extension, writing.

The Beginning

Well, here I am, gradually progressing in my nearly lifelong quest of becoming published, or at least noticed. It's been a long and difficult process which is still far from over, although I've learned a lot through my trial and error. It's helped to develop my plots and details, changing them immensely from their original forms. I guess you could say I am a compelled artist of the printed media who just has to tell a story or I'll be overwhelmed by the ferver which compels me. Most of us want to do things that we truly love to further define ourselves, but some of us are willing to step into the fire, so to speak, to push forward and work hard to accomplish this goal. I hope that someday soon I will attain this after years of working hard on it, and being my own worst enemy.