Word: wuther

wuther

\ WUHTH-er \  , verb;

1. (of wind) to blow fiercely.

 

**********************************

 

     The wind blew furiously across the wide open field, giving an unseasonable chill to the late Spring air.

     "Do we have to do this today?  I'm cold."  The young boy said, loud enough to be heard above the roar of the wind.

     "Yeah, we do.  It's a perfect day for what we're doing."  Said the boy's older brother.

     "But I'm cold."  The younger boy complained.

     "Oh suck it up.  You're the one who wanted to do this.  'Sides, it's not that cold out."

     "Yes it is."  The younger boy said quietly.

     The comment went unheard by the teen, who had gone to his old, beat up car and was pulling a large bundle out from the trunk.  He struggled against the wind as he rejoined his little brother.  He set it down and unfolded the large square sheet of cloth which contained a bunch of plastic rods and two bundles of twine.

     "'Sides, we need lots of wind for this to work."  He said as he started fitting the rods into the corners and sides of the cloth.

     "I know, but do we need this much?"

     "Yeah, we do.  Look, you know how a small kite only needs a little wind?"  The boy nodded his agreement, "Well, a big kite must need a lot of wind.  Also, we need even more than normal since it'll be carrying you with it."

     "Ok, I guess."  The boy watched his bother set up the over sized kite.

     He took one of the bundles of twine and pulled a pair of scissors out of his pocket and got to work finishing the kite.  He did this by tying four long strands of twine to the corners, and then to each other in the center.  The rest of the bundle was then attached to that to make the kite string.

     "Ok, come on over and I'll tie you to the kite."  The older brother said once he was finished. 

     "Are you sure this is a good idea?"  The boy asked as he looked at the finished kite.

     "I thought you wanted to do this."

      "I do."  The boy said defensively, "It's just that I don't think this is gonna work."

     "It'll work.  I saw it on TV once."

     "Really?  On TV?"

     To his young mind, that was more than enough to convince him.  He went up to the kite and spread his arms and legs out.  The teen used the other bundle of twine to tie his bother's small arms and legs securely to the plastic rods.  They had already tested them to see if they could carry they boys weight, and found that they could without much trouble, so neither of them was worried about that.

     "Ok, you ready?"  The teenage asked after making sure his brother wouldn't fall.

     "Yeah." The boy said.  

     The teen took the end of the twine rope and tied it around his wrist.  Then, he started running into the wind.  He ran as quickly as he could until the twine rope was pulled tight.  At that moment, the boy jumped as high as his tied up legs would allow him, which wasn't very much at all.

    The teen was too busy running to notice what was happening with his brother.  He looked over his shoulder into the air, and then to the ground when he didn't see the kite in the air.  Instead of flying, like he had thought it would, the kite was being dragged face down along the grass.  He immediately turned and ran to flip the kite over and check on his younger brother.  The boy lay there, unmoving, with his eyes closed.  The teen recoiled in horror at the sight of his still brother.

    "Oh god, oh god, oh god, I killed my brother.  Oh god, what should I do?"  He said to no one in particular, pure panic coloring his voice, "I just, I just..."  He looked at his brother and paused.  A small grin was forming on they boy's face.  The older brother's face contorted in a myriad of emotions ranging from joy to anger to amusement.

    "You little brat!"  He shouted.  He punched his brother lightly in the stomach.  The boy responded to the playful blow by bursting out in laughter.

    "I got you!  I totally got you!"  He said through his laughter.

    "Yeah, yeah, you got me all right.  Just don't it again, alright?"

    "Alright."  The boy said with mock disappointment.  "Um, can you untie me now?"

    "Sure thing.  Just hold on a second."  The teen got to work getting the twine off right away, and the boy was soon able to stand without the kite getting in the way.

    "What do you think went wrong?  He asked once he was upright.

    "No idea.  Maybe it's not windy enough, or maybe I just wasn't moving fast enough.  It could be a lot of things, really."

    "Oh.  So, are we gonna try again?"

    "Well, yeah.  Not today though.  If we stay out much longer, mom'll kill us."  The teen said.  The boy nodded in agreement.

    Together, they took the kite apart and stuffed it back into the car before getting in themselves.  As they drove off, the wind seemed to blow with its own kind of laughter.

     

Word: theurgy

 

theurgy

\ THEE-ur-jee \  , noun;

1. the working of a divine or supernatural agency in human affairs.

2. a system of beneficent magic practiced by the Egyptian Platonists and others.

*************************************

               “I thought you said they wouldn’t chase us!”  Lars shouted as the group ran.  Crude goblin arrows whizzed past them, the crooked shafts blessedly inaccurate, even in the narrow passage.

                “I did, and they shouldn’t be.”  Lyra said.  “I don’t know why they are.”  The hoard of goblins was gaining on the group slowly, but steadily.

                “Maybe it has something to do with this damn trinket.”  Lars said.  He clutched the thing tucked away in his belt, suddenly very tempted to just toss it aside.

                “Watch it.”  Caruss said suddenly.  He pushed Lars aside just as an arrow flew past the space where the swordsman’s head had been not a moment before.  The action did make him stumble a bit though, letting the pursuers gain distance. 

                Lars slashed at the nearest goblin.  The attack only managed to nick it, but it was enough to gain enough time to keep going and put some kind of distance between them. 

                “Grena, are you going to do something soon?”  Lyra asked.  Grena had been running ahead, and was swinging her beads at a furious rate.  The string glowed ever brighter as she gathered energy into it.

                “Just give me a minute.”  She said, her eyes closed in concentration. 

                “I doubt we have a minute.”  Lyra said.  She stopped running just long enough to fit an arrow to her bow, turn, and shoot the closest available target.  The arrow plunged deep into one of the many goblins.  It fell, and several more tripped over their fallen comrade, slowing their pursuit for a few seconds while they recovered.

                “Ok, I’m ready.” Grena called out after a few more seconds of charging her spell.  She stopped dead and turned around to face the oncoming hoard.  She waited for the other three to pass her, then unleashed her spell.

                A fine blade-like wave of arcane energy rushed out from the string of beads, and headed not towards the goblins, but the ceiling.  The magical energy splashed against the rock, appearing to dissipate uselessly.  Lars looked ready to comment on the lack of effect until the rock started to shake and rumble.  Soon, massive piles of dirt and rock fell, and a large section of the corridor collapsed.  The goblins that hadn’t been crushed by the fallen stones had been separated from the group.  Grena collapsed, gasping for breath.  That spell had taken what little energy she had left to cast.  The others soon followed suit, taking a much needed rest after all they had been through.

                “Nice one.”  Caruss said between long gasps of breath.

                “Thanks.”  Grena responded in kind.

                “You know that won’t hold them for long, right?”  Lyra said.  Indeed, they could already hear the scraping and clanging of the goblins working their way through the rock.

                “Well then, let’s not be here when they do.”  Lars said.  He slowly got to his feet and started walking towards the exit.  The others slowly brought themselves to their feet and followed him. 

                It seemed to take hours for them to reach the exit of the corridor, but they finally exited, emerging into the abandoned temple.  Once the passage had been sealed off again, they once more collapsed, too tired to move much more.

                “Oh man, am I glad to be out of there.”  Lars said.  The others nodded and groaned their agreement.  Lars pulled the object they had retrieved out from his belt and looked at it. 

                It was a necklace with what looked to be a silver chain.  A small golden bottle hung from it, the polished yellow metal glinting in the midday light.  Intricate patterns covered the bottle, carved with detail even a master craftsman would be hard pressed to copy. 

                “So, what’s it this thing?”  He asked.  He made to pull the bottle off the chain.

                “Hold it.”  Grena said.  Lars stopped dead.

                “What?  Something wrong?”

                “That thing’s magic.  I can tell.”  While her ability to detect magic wasn’t her strong suit, she could at least tell that much.  “Let me check it out before opening it.”

                “Fine, fine.”  Lars said.  He tossed it to Grena.  She studied the patterns for a bit before taking her beads and falling into a deep, rhythmic breathing for longer spells.  A small book popped up next to her.

                “Hold on, I thought you said conjuring was hard.”  Lyra said.

                “It is.  That was object summoning.  That’s easy.”

                “So why didn’t you just do that?”

                “Because I don’t want to be accused of stealing.  The best way to do object summoning is something you already own and know about, like this book.  Otherwise, you just take something at random, which is considered stealing.  Since I don’t have a pile of arrows handy, you’re out of luck.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to start.”  Grena closed her eyes; put the bottle to her forehead, and her finger to the book.  Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, her finger started to move along the page, leaving a trail of purple ink behind it.

                “What is she doing now?”

                “She’s writing the enchantment.”  Caruss said, “It makes it easier for her.  Better get comfy though, this could take awhile.” 

It took almost two hours before Grena was finished with her work.  When she was done, she set to work examining the runes she had written.  As her eyes poured over the pages that had been filled, the color drained from her face and her eyes widened.  Her hands were trembling when she finally put the book down.

“Well?”  Caruss asked.

“It’s bad.  Really bad.”

“How?”

“I guess you can call it a god cage.  See, what it does is it finds a requested god, takes it, and traps it inside the bottle.  Then the user has full access to that god’s power.”

“Seriously?  That sounds amazing.”  Lars said.  His eyes were alight with the possibilities.

“There’s a catch though.  Keeping a god contained takes a lot of power.  That power comes from two places.  One is the world at large.  The second is converted from the user’s mind.”

“And that means?”  Lyra asked.

“It makes the user go insane.  This thing gives the power of a god to a madman.”  None of them spoke as they considered her words.  It wasn’t a very pleasant thought for any of them.

“Can it be changed?”  Lars asked, “Like, make it so the person doesn’t go crazy or something?  You know, change the power source.”

“I suppose so.  But it would take a master enchanter.  As far as I know, there’s only one person alive who even comes close.”

“Well, maybe we should pay him a visit.  I mean, think of the possibilities.”  Lars said, thinking very hard about them.

“I guess so, but…”  Grena stared

“Maybe also change the forced nature of it.”  Lyra interrupted, “Make it so the god can go in willingly and lend his or her power to a person in exchange for something.”

“That, and let the god retain the ability to communicate with others.”  Caruss added.  “Once altered, this could be the single most important artifact ever recovered.”

“So, I guess we’re not getting paid for this one?  Well, can’t say that’s too terrible, considering what we get out of it.”  Lars said.  He was almost drooling at the prospects of having a god’s power.

“Um, excuse me, but…”  Grena said, but was largely ignored.  The other three were excitedly chattering about the possibilities.  Finally though, she sent up a bolt of arcane power into the sky, which burst loudly, cutting short the conversation.  “As I was trying to say, the only man who I know of that can even attempt to alter this thing lives in Esline, which means only I can go to meet him.  And furthermore, he’s not exactly an easy person to meet.  Plus, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to do anything, even if I do somehow manage to gain a meeting with him.  And even if he can, the Circle will likely want to keep it in the city to protect it.  It’s unlikely that they’ll let me have it again, no matter what happens.”

“So, no god powers?”  Lars asked.

“No god powers.”

“Oh.”  He hung his head in disappointment.

“So, since you’re going to the infamous Magical City, what does that mean for the rest of us?”  Lyra asked.

“I don’t know what you’ll be doing, but the three of us have a meeting place set out for times like this.”  Grena said, making it clear that she didn’t want Lyra around too much longer.

“Right.”  Caruss said.  “You’ll contact us when you’re ready to meet?”

“Like always.”  She said.  “But first, let’s go back to town, I’ve got a long way to go, and I’d like a good night’s rest before I do.”  Nobody could complain about that.  The four of them headed off towards the nearest town, each of them thinking about what the future might have in store for them.

**************************

Hey, remember the last time I used these guys, I cut off just before a bit fight?  Well, here's what happens AFTER the fight, MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Well, anyways, I think what I'm going to do at some point is take that last one, this one, and stitch them together with the fight in the middle of them.  Then I hall post it on another sight, and link it to here.  It might not happen any time soon, but it should happen.

Other than that, is that something like an overarching plot line I see forming?  Why, I think it is.  Hmmm...  What ever could that mean?  And will it go anywhere at all?  Only time will tell.

Word: melliferous

 

melliferous

\ muh-LIF-er-uhs \  , adjective;

1. yielding or producing honey.

*************************************
Gotta keep moving.  Gotta look for flowers.  Oh hey, there’s some nice ones!  Mm, very nice.  Lots of good stuff in these.  I’ll be able to deliver lots of goods to the hive with these.  Lots of good honey to be made for the young here.  Oh look, there’s more over there!  Oh wow, I’m almost full with all the flowers around here.  I’d better go back.  I’ll just tell everyone else about this place when I get back.  That’ll be good.  Hm?  What’s that?  It looks like a flower.  At least it’s as colorful as one.  But it’s a lot bigger.  And I’ve never seen a flower that can move before.  I’d better check it out.  It’s really big, so it must have lots of nice pollen inside.  Odd, I can’t see to find the entrance.  And it’s moving a lot more when I get closer.  Whoa!  That branch like thing almost hit me!  I’d better get out of here.  Flowers that move like that never have anything good to offer.  Besides, now that I think about it, it didn’t smell like a normal flower as well.  Oh wait, before I get back, I’d better stop of at that nice big flower patch first.  I can still hold a bit more after all.  Ok, I’m all full up.  Now I can go home, deliver my load, tell everyone about where I got it, and then it’s back out to gather more.  We have a big hive, with lots of little ones, so we’ll need lots of honey.  There it is, home sweet home.  Wait a moment, what’s that?  It looks like that big, moving flower.  That’s nice, it came right to the hive.  That must be why it tried to hit me before.  It didn’t think one of us was enough, and it wanted more to harvest its pollen.  And there’s everyone else to try and collect it all.  Hmm, odd, the flower doesn’t seem to like it when everyone else tries to get at the pollen it has.  It’s thrashing around with those weird branches again.  Hold on a second, it doesn’t want us around.  It’s attacking the hive!  I’d better go help them!  Wait a minute, if I do that, they won’t get all the pollen I have.  But if I don’t, then it might not matter much, because the big not-flower will ruin it.  What should I do?  It looks like they need all the help they can get right now.  And it is only a matter of time before someone else finds those nice big flower patches.  The ones that won’t fight back anyway.  Ok, I’ll do it!  I just have to find the right place.  Let’s see.  Grr, it’s moving too much, I can’t find a good spot.  Ah!  I see one!  At least, I think I do.  It looks like those two bright spots at the top are kind of important.  It’s protecting those more than other places anyway.  Wait for it…wait for it…Now!  For the Hive!  Got it!  I did it!  It’s leaving, and the hive is still in one piece!  Oh god, but it hurts.  I have to try and make it inside though.  It’s so far now though.  I have to at least try.  I…can…make…it…  
************************
Does the bee make it?  You decide.  And let that be a lesson to you.  Don't mess with bees.  They sting.  And then they die.  It's kinda sad if you think about it.  Also, listen to this while you're reading.  It's fun!   

Word: Whangdoodle

 

whangdoodle

\ HWANG-dood-l, WANG- \  , noun;

1. a fanciful creature of undefined nature.

          

****************************8

“Ok, class, it’s time for art.” Heather said.  “Get out your crayons, markers, or colored pencils.”  She waited a bit for the children in her first grade class to rummage through the supplies on hand to get out the needed materials.  Quiet chatter filled the room as a few of the children found their art supplies lacking, and tried to ‘borrow’ some from those next to them.  “If you don’t have any you can use, then there’s plenty for everyone at the coloring table.”  She said.  A group of students got up and went to what had been called the coloring table.  It was a small, round plastic table where Heather had dumped all the loose art supplies that had been lost over the years.  Once the children had laid claim to as many art supplies as their small hands could manage, they sat down.

                “Now then, everyone have what they need?  Good.”  She continued, “Ok, let’s start then.  Now, who wants to pass out drawing paper to the class?”  She looked around.  She already knew there would be two or three that were eager to volunteer for anything.  Sure enough, three hands shot up into the air, all three belonging to the more helpful or eager to please children.  “Ok, how about…Jimmy, why don’t you do it?”  A short, chubby boy quickly stood up and went over to Heather.  He smiled as she gave him a stack of blank white paper.  He immediately set out to distribute the stack to his classmates. 

                “Now, once everyone has their paper we can begin.  For today, let’s try something new, alright?  Draw a new kind of animal that you made up.  If you can’t think of anything, draw an animal someone in your family made up.  After that, write a little about your animal, like its name, where it lives, and what kind of food it eats.”

                “Can it really be anything we want?”  Said one of the students, a young boy with a very hopeful look.

                “Yes it can.  As long as it’s something you or a family member made up, it can be anything.  Now, let’s get started.”

                The room was again filled with quiet chatter as the students got to work drawing whatever their young minds could think of.  Heather went around the room, examining their work, asking the occasional question about the more interesting creations.  This kind of thing was one of the more enjoyable times for her, mostly since it was the closest thing she had to a break during the school day.  Since she taught first grade, she couldn’t really leave them alone for very long, even during lunch and recess, so assignments where she didn’t actually need to do much were godsends for her. 

                As she was going around the room, one drawing in particular caught her eye.  It wasn’t any better than those the other student’s made, since it was just as crude and messy as one could expect from a first grader.  It was what the picture was of.  It looked to be a deer with a technicolor body, and what seemed to be slippers on its feet.  To most people, it would probably be nothing more than a child’s attempt to create something when they couldn’t think of anything.  But Heather had been doing her job for too long for that.  She knew what it was supposed to be.

                “That’s very nice, Nichole, what do you call it?”  She said to the girl who was busy drawing the antlers with a thick brown crayon.

                “It’s a Whangdoodle.  My brother made it up.  I wanted to make something on my own, but I couldn’t, so I used this one.”

                “I see.”  Heather said.  She knew Nichole’s brother well.  She had taught him several years before.  He was a very creative boy, but all his creativity seemed to be focused entirely on lying.  “Are you sure you’re brother made it up?  Because I think it was made up by someone else a long time ago.”  She said, trying to be gentle about it.

                “Nuh-uh.  He made it up.  He said so.”  Nichole said, remaining focused on her drawing.

                “Well, what if he was wrong about that?”  Heather said.  She couldn’t just say the boy was lying to his younger sister, so she had to come up with other ways of saying it.

                “I don’t think so.  If he was, he’d say so.  He always says to tell when you get something wrong.”  Nichole said, finally looking away from the paper.  That didn’t sound like the same boy, but at least he was trying to set his sister on the right track.

                “Well, what if he read about it somewhere and forgot?  Then he might have thought it was his idea without knowing it.”  She was treading on thin ice.  If she said the wrong thing, Nichole could erupt in a fit of tears. 

                “Um, maybe.”  The girl said.  “But if it’s not his, then does that mean I have to start over?”  She asked.

                “No, I think you’re alright to finish this one.”  Heather said.  She couldn’t have one student finishing a drawing after all the others had completed theirs.  Although this particular drawing did fall out of the rules she had set, it was at least an attempt.  And if she didn’t, then it would probably spawn a slew of questions, that might result in her calling Nicole’s brother a liar, which was exactly what she was trying to avoid.  As long as none of the other kids knew about it, it should be fine.  Instead of pressing the issue further, she let Nichole finish the drawing, and made a mental note to bring the appropriate reading materials to her attention.     

********************

Anyone other than me remember this book?  Anyone?  Anyone at all?  It's a fun little book for children, it really is.