This is a page for deleted scenes from my stories!
Witchling, Proto-Chapter One
This was the original first chapter for Witchling. I decided not to persue this story (for now!) but wanted to keep this piece of writing because some users here liked it and so did I! :)
The pitter-patter of rain echoed on the tin roof of the house. Jillian sat at the kitchen table, working on her history paper. Andora, her mother, stood over some boiling concoction the stovetop, a spellbook on the counter beside her.
"One eye of newt," Andora said to herself, "Where did Marcella leave the newt eyes?" She put her hands on her hips.
"In the cubbard, Momma," Jill called out, "Left side, third shelf from the bottom." Jill rolled her eyes. She loved her mother very much, but she could be so scatterbrained sometimes. She had been the cubbard several times and had, surely, see the small brown bottle containing the eye of newt.
"Thank you darling dear, I knew we kept you around for a reason." Her mother tosseled her hair as she walked by, leaving a light dusting of moth's wing behind. Jill shook her hair clean, sending the curles bouncing. "Dinner should be ready soon."
"Dinner? I thought you were making a potion for Mr. Calburn," Jill felt her stomach lurch at the idea of eating lizard offal.
"No, silly," Andora laughed, returning from the cubbard with her eye of newt in hand, "There are TV dinners in the oven. We may be witches, but that doesn't mean we can't eat like average people." As if on cue, the oven timer began to ring.
Andora finished with the potion, pouring it into a glass bottle, before taking the metal trays out of the oven and called to her other children to come get their food while it was hot. Steam waffed from them, filling the kitchen with the scent of processed meat and salt. Jillian didn't particular care for these pre-packaged meals, but it was much better than eye of newt soup, so she didn't complain.
Her younger sisters Jaina and Juliette ran into the kitchen. They were followed closely by their familars, also twins. "Momma," Jaina cried, "Jewel stool my Barbie! Tell her to give it back!"
"Now now, you two stop fighting. Your sister is working on her home work. You know how important it is for her to do well, her Trial is in two weeks after all, she needs all the peace and quiet possible to study." Andora gathered them in her arms, "One day you'll be where she is, if you behave yourselves. Now, where is James?"
James was the oldest of the four, having already underwent his Trial. He was sixteen now, three years older than Jillian, and as such he was constantly away from home. Usually with girls at the local drive-in theatre, much to Jillian's chagrin. She didn't know what those poor girls saw in him, and she was of half a mind that he was putting love charms on them. He was a good brother to them, but he was by no means a prized catch, even in their small southern town.
"He's out with Dahlia tonight, I think." Jewel said, holding the doll over her sisters head. Priscilla, the grey and black cat that was her familar, twined around her legs protectively. "I thought it was Illia," Jaina reached up, straining on her toes. They were fraternal twins, and Jewel had grown four inches taller, giving her a significant advantage over Jaina. Odessa, Jaina's familiar, groomed herself by the door leading to the garden, uninterested in the twins' petty tug-of-war.
Heretic - Original first two chapters
These were the original first two chapters of my story Heretic. I decided to take this in a different direction. For reference, originally the characters of Heretic were supposed to be similar to humans but had they evolved from elephants instead of apes.
Shou rose in the sky to the east, shining with opalescent fire. The first three of its moons would be soon to follow: the dark scourge that was Malik, the blue white of Hassh, and the muddy yellow-red-brown of Issik. But for now, Yaasa was alone while the rest of the inhabitants of Nashega, the fourth moon, slept.
He stroked his trunk, the thick, brick-like fingers of his hand sending the dried mud flaking to the floor beneath him. He was not upset; the servants would come to clean it up. And it was dawn now, the ceremonial mud-coverings could come off and the Gods Above would not be offended. His master had departed the world of the living, and he had kept his vigil as was honorable.
Despite how uncomfortable the dried mud felt on his skin, a small part of him was sad to see it go. A deep sense of longing began to fill his heart. He had not been able to talk to his master before the illness took him. He had been returning from a mission for the Sanctuary, and by the time he had reached the outer walls of Great Ka'ja, his master had already fallen into a deep coma.
Now, he was buried in the Sanctuary tomb with the rest of his brothers, as Yaasa would one day be. The Sanctuary taught its wards not to mourn for those who join with the Gods Above, but learning and doing are two very different things, Yaasa had come to find out. Being told to celebrate and be happy for those who pass on was one thing, but to ignore the ache of loss was another.
Yaasa turned from the balcony, and entered into his masters- no, his rooms. As was customary, he now took over his master chambers, and all of his belongings. Not that Tihua had much to his name, a small collection of books that were not standard Sanctuary-issue, and several small trinkets from his travels around Nashega. Everything else was generic. Tihua had not been interested in earthly possessions, there were more pressing concerns than what to buy, he had often said.
Yaasa would miss his small rants, annoying though they were. In retrospect, they really didn't seem as trivial as they once had. Yaasa would give anything to hear them again, rather than the blaring silence he now sat in.
As if on cue, a knock at the door sounded, followed by the gruff call of Magister Alox. "Breakfast is being served in the mess. Come now or go hungry." Yaasa could hear the old coot shuffle off. He wished the man's foul mood could be blamed on the early hour, but alas, he was just as ill-tempered at dawn as he was at dusk.
Yaasa made his way to the large chamber that served as the Sanctuary's cafeteria. The ceiling was a construct of metal and glass that filled the room with plenty of sunlight during the day but allowed the Keepers to observe the stars at night. The walls were the same white stone as the rest of the Sanctuary, although some sections had murals painted upon them which was a unique quality only seen in this one room.
Yaasa joined the queue and received his portion of today’s meal, which consisted of steam oak bark, a small salad of greens, and a large apple. He found a free spot along one of the large benches where Keepers communed together and began to tuck into his breakfast. The Keeper to his left was just finishing her meal and got up to leave, but it didn't take long for another to take her spot.
"Yaasa," Omali threw an arm around Yaasa once he was fully seated, "I heard about your master, are you doing okay?" He laid his trunk on Yaasa's hand comfortingly.
Yaasa smiled, "It will be hard to adjust, but I know I will be fine with friends like you around." Yaasa touched his friends' trunk with his own, before using it to scoop a portion of the salad into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully before adding, "When did you arrive back from the Western territories?"
"Just as dawn was breaking. I'm sorry I missed the entombment ceremony, but the desert sands made travelling more difficult for the carts. Their wheels get caught in all the sand. Oh, Yaasa, do not get me started on the sand. It's horrible, it gets into everything. Everything!"
Yaasa smiled again, chewing through the leaves. He and Omali had been brought to the Sanctuary around the same time and had been in the same classes. Now that they were fully fledged Keepers, they didn't get to see each other has often as they would like, but they always picked up their friendship from when it had last been left. "Let's hope neither of our next assignments are in the West then."
"Well, the West isn't all bad. I actually brought something back for you. I should be in my quarters later this evening after the Communion, why don't you stop by and I'll give it to you?"
They agreed to meet and finished off their meals. Omali stole Yaasa's apple, but he didn't mine. Apples were one of Yaasa's least favorite fruits, but they were the cheapest fruit available in Great Ka'ja, so the Sanctuary often had them in meals. Yaasa wasn't that hungry in truth, so he gladly gave the fruit to his friend who had not have much besides cactus in the past seven months he'd been deployed.
Yaasa and Omali parted ways for now, and Yaasa headed toward the Sanctuary’s archives. Magister Améa was the Higharchon, which made her the overseer of the archives as well as a member of the Sanctuary’s High Council.
Yaasa had come to see about donating his master’s private collection to the archives. As much as he did miss his master, he didn’t think keeping every single item he had possessed would be healthy or helpful. They would be constant reminders of the loss of his master, and Yaasa wouldn’t have much free time to read. He would be redeployed within the week, and his life would be hectic once he reached his destination, wherever on Nashega that would be.
“Ah, Keeper Yaasa,” Améa greeted him, “It has been many Season since I last saw you.”
Yassa gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I wish my purpose for this long overdue visit was not so grim, then, Higharchon.” He bowed and told her his reason for coming to the archives. In truth, he had never really been interested in the archives. He saw the need and use for books, however he found that every time he cracked one of the dusty tomes open or pulled a musty scroll apart, he quickly lost interest in the contents. He much rather listen to something than read it.
“We will gladly accept Magister Tihua’s books into the archive,” Améa reached out her trunk Yaasa, who twined his own with it. The held them for several seconds before letting them fall back to their resting positions, “Your master was a good Keeper, and better person.”
“Thank you,” Yaasa dipped his head, “I will miss him dearly.”
Améa did not respond to that, grief was not a proper emotion for a Keeper, they were supposed to be more logical and impartial. Instead, she said, “I will send one of my Apprentices to collect the books tonight.”
Yaasa nodded his agreement and left. He had seen the slight look of disappointment in the Higharchon’s eyes. As a member of the High Council she would be a strict adherent to the Sanctuary’s codes, so Yaasa couldn’t blame her, but her reproach still stung all the same.
Two - Before
Tihua road into town in the rickety carriage provided to him by the Sanctuary. The dust stirred up by the Sand Crawlers that pulled the carriage drifted into it, causing Tihua to cough periodically. It made concentrating nearly impossible and reading even more so.
Tihua would not have chosen the Southern Depths had the decision been his to make, he was fond of neither the heat nor sand. But he must do as the High Council demanded, and so here he was to watch over the desert people and lead them to lives made richer by the Gods Above.
Although the sky was still light, the days were much longer in the south of Nashega, Shou’s multicolor light still shown through the light of the sun. King of the Gods, Shou was Tihua’s favorite of the Gods. He was the giver of knowledge, having shown the Fanti how to use flame and taught them the written word. Without Shou, there would be no books, and without books, Tihua would be very unhappy.
It was several more hours before Tihua arrived in Bokun, the small town that served as gateway to the Southern Depths. The caravan would rest and restock here before moving on to their final location Lesser Li’ka further to the south and deeper in the desert.
Of the Lesser cities, Li’Ka was the poorest and least civilized. From the reports provided to him by the Sanctuary, crime was rampant in the city and government officials didn’t seem interested in stopping it. There were rumors that they even participated, although the Sanctuary could find no solid evidence that that was true. One of Tihua’s tasks was to investigate.
Because of its remote location, there was not yet a strong presence of the Sanctuary in Lesser Li’Ka. Tihua knew the High Council wanted him to be a founding member of the Li’Ka congregation, but he was dubious of his chances if he was being honest. Hopefully he would find the rumors false and the crime rate overexaggerated and could return to Greater Ka’ja within the year and resume his search for an apprentice.
Alternate version chapter one
As you can see, I like to reuse a lot of concepts. This was an alternate version of Heretic that I was working on concurrently with Grave of Blades (see below). I decided to merge the two stories because I didn't like how either was going, and tbh Grave of Blades spun out of ideas I had for Heretic (I thought it would be too much to have it all in one book, and now look where I am lmao). Anyway, I this version we started with Tihua's point of view. I was going to alternate between present-Jassa (notice the change from Y to J, though pronouned the same) and past-Tihua, basically the reverse of the original version above. Jassa never shows up here because I haven't written in a while, but the past storyline was to follow Tihua teaching Jassa, who is a street urchin, and a desert princess with a lot of magical power. Present storyline would've followed Jassa discovering that Tihua's death was planned by the leaders of the Keepers (who no longer are a plot point I care to follow in the current version) and he unveils all their corruption. Enjoy!
Tihua sat cross-legged, his hands on his knees with thumb and ring-finger pressed together in a loop. He floated a few hand-spans above the ground. He felt the auras of several small desert animals in the sands around him, and from the village oasis behind, he could sense the many peoples going about their daily life. Haggling for food or tools, as the desert peoples were wont to do.
Tihua exhaled and allowed himself to fall back to the world. Shou hung low in the sky to the east, shining with opalescent fire as always. The first of his three wives, Malika, would soon show the dark scourge of her face, and would be followed by her two sisters, the sickly blue-white Hassh and the ruddy yellow- brown of Issik.
Nashega was the fourth and most beautiful wife of Shou, and it was there that humans had been settled by the Gods Above. Or so said Keeper lore, but Tihua did not trust the mythologies of his people. He had seen for himself how easily they could be weaponized and used to subjugate people.
Tihua rose and stretched out his arms and legs. He ran through a quick fighting stance, and once he was finished, he began his journey back to town.
He had been sent to the desert town of Amreen by the Tribunal to escort the a minor princess back to Greater Ka’ja, the heart of the empire.
This is the unfinished prologue to a story called Godhead that was going to feature gods of the old world trying to survive in America. I was thinking about having some folk tales and historical figures (like like Uncle Sam, Paul Bunyan, John Henry, etc) become American gods. I still want to play with this idea in the future because it's an idea I've had for a long time. I've always been interested in world mythology, and books like The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flammel were really influential to me when I was younger. Hope you enjoy!
“I had a dream that I was fine/
I wasn't crazy, I was divine.”
- Lana Del Rey, I Can Fly
“This is what you must remember: the ending of one story is just the beginning of another.”
- N. K. Jemisin, The Fifth Season
The heavy footsteps of boot-clad feet thumped against the pavement behind her. She was playing coy with them of course. She was Iris, she was Goddess of the Rainbow and an embodiment of light. She could travel around the world many times over in a second if she wanted. Or better yet, incinerate those her pursued her. Yeah, that sounded great.
But, an aspect of her, Yellow, said, We won’t know why they’re chasing us if we do that.
Who gives a good Godsdamn, Red retorted, You saw what they did to Pan and Hera. And Vesta is still missing.
Vesta is probably in one of her many safe houses, Green pointed out, always the voice of reason, She never trusted any of us. And rightly so it would seem. Yellow is right, we should capture one of them and interrogate them. If nothing else, it show whoever sent them after us we won’t be so easy to capture. Or kill.
You’re not actually suggesting we hurt one of them, are you? Violet piqued up.
Shut it, Pinky, Red bit back, shoving the aspect down in Iris’s subconscious. In truth, she was all of them. They only took on distinct personalities in moments of stress.
Up head there was an abandoned factory, a dispossessed temple to American manufacturing, and Iris altered her course. It wasn’t long before they crossed the threshold, and Iris stopped dead.
They ran past her, skidding to a stop and turning to face Iris. They were dressed in black and grey fatigues and reinforced helmets. Most of them had varies guns, rifles or pistols, Iris didn’t really know the difference, she had no need of firearms. However, one rested his hands against a sword.
Definitely curious, Indigo said, I think we should do everything in our power to take that one out first.
Ask and you shall receive, Red snarled. Iris’s hand jerked up, and sent a blast of light into the swordsman. One of his compatriots leaped in front of him, instantly burning to a crisp. He moved more quickly than Iris thought possible for a human.
This is not good, to state the obvious, Indigo warned, Forget any interrogation. We need to escape now before things get worse, cut our losses.
No, Orange this time, I’m tired of running. We’re a bloody God, and it’s time we act like it. No more cowering, we’re taking this world back.
Iris felt the aspect of her that was Indigo raise it’s eyebrow. None of the other aspects seemed to side with it, Fine, you’ll be the death of us all.
Grave of Blades
This was the first chapter of a story I decided to merge with my current version of Heretic (the only story I've ever consistantly worked on lol). In this story, Jarryn is a city guard (ie police) for the city of Akanet, the captial of a vast empire. Tbh it's been so long since I've worked on this I don't even remember where the story was going to go. But I do remember that there were supposed to be seven blades that were magic and sentient (think like the Bleach manga). I'm adding this now because I'm deleting my Word document but I wanted to keep this because I don't like deleting my writing anymore because I actually don't think it's horrible anymore. Anyway, enjoy!
Jarryn scooped a spoonful of eggs from his plate to his mouth. He was saving the ham and hash for last, waiting to savor the saltiness. He’d been out all night on duty and was enjoying a meal before he went back to his apartment to get some rest. He watched the cook at work on the griddle behind the counter, preparing food for another of the diner’s patrons.
“Can I getcha anythin’ else, hon?” the waitress asked. She was wearing a tidy white apron hover a cream-colored dress. Jarryn frequented the diner fairly regularly, but the role of waitress was constantly rotating as each woman who took it up grew tired of the constant groping. He thought this one’s name was Lucinda.
“Sure, I’ll take another lemon water, thank you.” Jarryn smiled at her and tucked back into his food. Though it was as greasy as could be the food was cheap and tasty, so Jarryn had grown used to making an extra trip or two to the chamber pot at night.
“I’ll be right back,” she swished off. Jarryn thought she might be trying to catch his eye. Wouldn’t be the first time a waitress tried to pick up a member of the City Guard.
Akanet was the bastion-city of the Okaran Empire, and one of its largest and newest settlements. While most of the Empire was centuries old, Akanet had been established as a foothold in the Sawahsa scrublands and the Lal desert beyond.
This is an untitled high fantasy series I started writing late one night. It was going to have a continent who's inhabitants were able to preform magic and an island (think like Australia) that didn't have magic but was more technologically advanced. The Islanders invaded the continent and took over, semi-enslaving the native population. This was going to be the prologue of the story, but I don't think it's a) a very original concept and b) I can write this better so I'm adding it here. Enjoy!
Lady Charran hated when her ladies-in-waiting doted on her. Dorrin fussed with her hair, Salia her make up, and Alma her gown. She loved the woman dearly to be sure, they had been with her since enfanthood and she would be utterly lost without them, however they could be pushy and often overstepped themselves.
“Alright ladies, alright,” Lady Charran stood up, pushing them away. “I look lovely as always, one more brush, swipe, or stictch isn’t going to help.” She smiled at each of them in turn, “I must be off. I’m sure the court is already in murmurs over my absences.”
“Yes m’Lady” Alma bowed, always the spokeswoman for the group. “Have a wonderful time.” Dorrin and Salia bowed as well.
Charran left her suit, two of the palace guards who’d been watching her door followed behind her. While the palace complex was fairly large, the largest on the Contient in fact, Charran’s rooms were not far from the large hall that served as a ballroom.
Once she’d reached the hall she blended in with the party. Viscount Hector had drunk himself into a stupor and seemed to have just finished emtpying his stomach all over his wife Viscountess Sairé. Charran reached to the sapphire pendant she wore, feeling the hum of power within. Perhaps her ladies and done her a favorite by keeping her late.
“Ah, Lady Charran,” a familar voice behind her called, “I was afraid I would miss you.”
“Price Hiram,” Charran dipped her head, “A pleasure as always. How are things on the Island?”
“Divine as always,” he chuckled. He was fair skinned as all Islanders were, however his hair was streaked with bright ginger through the typical blond. “And how are the Jungle Deeps?”
“Contentious, but that surely isn’t news for you.” Charran flashed her teeth in a false smile. “Your souldiers are unwelcomed by my people, and they petition me constatly over the tax rate. As it was the last time you ask.”
“Hm,” Hiram regarded her with lidded eyes, “I’m sorry to hear that Charran. You know how my Father is, and he won’t hear any complains about his conquest, certainly not from you, and not even from me. If only there was something that could be done.”
Bastard, Charran thought to herself, “If only,” she turned and stalked away from him. She soon found herself surrounded by her fellow Contential lords and ladies. Lord Alcö from the southern tribes was dressed in the typical taiga fashion with furs and leather, always a man to follow tradition.
He came to her, a glass of Bulkawine in hand for her and himself, “Charran,” he dipped his head in greeting, “Still wearing Islander-garb I see, at least you’ve returned to your natural hair. You still have hope they’ll grant you independance? Or has the truth finally struck you?”
“Hello as well, Alcö, “ Charran rolled her eyes, “I will always hold out truth for my freedom. Know that. But the crown has certainly dimmed my ambition.”
“What a shame.” Alcö said dryly. “If we joined together we could fight for our freedoms twice as hard. My resolve and your resources would make for tough foe, even for the Islanders.” He rested his hand on his own pendant, one of deep onyx.
Charran sighed, “I will not play in your war games Alcö. My people have seen enough hardships as it is. I wouldn’t bring the full might of the crown on them to sait your ego. You best become acustom to the Islanders, they aren’t going anywhere for a while yet.” Alcö sneered, but walked away without another word. I hate that man, she thought to herself, almost more than Hiram.
For the rest of the night she danced and chatted with the Contential and Islander court, thought fortunately there were no more politically charged conversations. The ball was coming to a close when she spotted Salia at the edge of the room and she waved her over.
“My lady,” she bowed, and Charran motioned her to rise, “We need to leave now. One of the guards pasted them to Alma when she went to fetch our suppur,” she handed a small carved stone to Charran, who held it up to her eye. It was a symbol in the Contentintal script that stood for blade.
“Damn it,” Charran scanned the room for Alcö but didn’t see him. “That bastard is going to get us all killed. Is Alma in the suit?”
“No ma’am,” Salia shook her head, sweat beading on her forehead, “She sent me to find you and said you’d know where to go.”
“Yes, she told of a storage room with a hidden exit. She was worried there could be an altercation tonight and used her connections with the palace staff to develope an escape route. Follow me,” she turned and let the room, assuming Salia would follow. They traversed the palace, however instead of taking the stairs to her suit, she followed the corrider until it turned left, and entered the second door down.
The room was dimmer than the hallway, but Alma and Dorrin sat with a lantern between them. “Finally m’Lady, I thought I was going to have to find you myself,” Alma gave Salia a withering look, Salia shrugging in return.
“Regardless Alma, we’re here. Is Alcö to blame for this?”
“In part,” she nodded, “But more than half of the nobility have committed with him.” Charran scrowled at the news. She hadn’t expected Alcö to have swayed so many to his cause, “My feelings aside,” Alma continued, “I couldn’t risk you coming to any danger. The men have been instructed to bring your carriage. The passage here,” she paused to run her hands along the walls until she found the trigger, a section of the wall falling in on itself,” will take us to them.”
“Masterful as always,” Charran gave Alma a nod of appreciation. The quartet departed, leaving the room in darkness.
Alcö gathered his men outside of the Invader’s Palace. A majority of the force were his kinsmen, those who’d been harden by the bitter southern winds. They were used to fighting for their lives against nature, and were not afarid to fight the invaders like most of the other Contentitals were.
The remaining members of his retinue were composed of ragtag Continetnials that finally had chaffed at their occupation and decided death was more favorable than another moment under the Invader’s yoke. There were few other members of the court, most were yeoman, a few trained souldiers, and a singular hedgewitch. She stood apart, closer to Alcö. Instead of a pendant, she wore a silver band on her right thumb, which she fiddled with nervously.
“Sire,” she bowed, “We should begin now while the night is dark. When the moons rise our spell will greatly weaken.”
“Aye,” Alcö joined hands with her, his pendant seeming to give off an otherworldly glow. Her band grew warm, and then uncomfortably hot. They chanted in the ancestral language, and the ground around them grew dry, and began to crack. The blight spread towards the palace, and the stone walls began to decay until they collapsed in on themselves, revealing the palace innards to the night sky.
The hedgewitch collapsed to the ground, her skin similarly withered. Alcö looked down at the corpse, unmoved. It wasn’t uncommon for the peasantry to overextend themselves when using magic, they lacked the essance that the nobility had maintained with their true breeding. Something that made the Invaders even more envious.
Alcö walked to the front of his stuned army, “Now my fellows,” his voice rang out, “It is time for our freedom.” He led them into the palace, killing the first Islander he found.