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vmheadquarters · 4 years

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We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-Seven of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @nevertothethird. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.28 from @his-beautiful-girl - tag, you’re it!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN by @nevertothethird

“So, what’s our first move?” Logan asked.

Such a simple question, Veronica mused, and one she couldn’t immediately answer. If she took the book to the Sheriff’s station, she’d be bringing along with her a hunch they would likely ignore. There was also a chance, even if someone in the department believed her, that Ruby’s manuscript would go missing. While Neptune’s sheriff’s department wasn’t explicitly mentioned throughout the book, there were ample alluded-to miscarriages of justice that could be traced back to them.

And, on a purely selfish level, Veronica didn’t exactly relish the idea of sitting across from Sheriff Dan Lamb in order to explain her theory. She’d risk having his mockery directed at her in relation to the number of times her sexual assault was mentioned throughout Ruby’s book. Been there, done that with the other Lamb brother. No thank you.

She needed to regroup. “I think we head home, and –”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to veto that one.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“I was leading the witness.”

Veronica frowned. “Why can’t we go home?”

“Because about a year ago, you and I were photographed with Ruby. Together. At the 09er.”

She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Shit.”

“And if I know Neptune –” Logan continued.

“Then all of Neptune is currently waiting for us at our apartment.”

“Well,” Logan said, his face scrunched in concentration, “maybe half of Neptune.” He gestured to the front door of Mars Investigations. “The other half is outside.”

“You’re not being serious?”

He shook his head. “Been a while since I’ve been able to use my ‘no comment’ face walking through a crowd. I did not miss it.”

Veronica pitched forward, and Logan wrapped his arms back around her waist. “Why do we live here?”

“Pony likes the beach.”

God. Ruby. Maybe book-Dick Casablancas had a point. Maybe getting close to her was dangerous. “Someone killed Ruby. Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the small of her back in comfort.

“Suggestions on places we could go to get some work done?”

“Dick is surfing Trestles this week.”

She nodded. “You drive. I’ll call my dad on the way.”

***

Safely ensconced at Dick’s beach house, Veronica and Logan had lined the perimeter of the living room with sticky flip chart pages. Written at the top of each page was the name of a “character” from Ruby’s book, and under the name they’d listed every fact mentioned in the book about that character. From the most well-known details (Veronica transferred to Stanford for sophomore year) to the couldn’t possibly be true (Ruby’s family owning a murder-mystery house on an island somewhere between Montana and southern California).

At the bottom of Duncan’s page, she scrawled ‘believed he killed Lilly’ and put the cap on her marker. They were only halfway through Ruby’s book, and the ever increasing amount of information was overwhelming. Everything could be a clue, or nothing could be a clue. “This is insane.”

Logan took a bite of panang curry, shaking his head. “This version of Duncan is really not my biggest fan.”

She placed the page back on the stack. “If it’s any comfort, he doesn’t really seem to be a fan of mine, either.” Veronica grabbed a red marker. “Okay, so let’s start making some connections. Starting with you.”

“Must we?”

She ignored him and looked at the list of facts related to book-Logan’s history, focusing on those that couldn’t be gleaned from casual conversation.

● San José State University

● Dylan Goran

● Hidden cameras in the Echolls pool house

● Madison

● “Recent sibling struggles with Trina”

“Dylan Goran is the one that confuses me,” Logan said. “The guy and Trina dated for a second. How could Ruby know about that?”

“When did you apply to San José State?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“And sophomore year of college? Did you and Trina have ‘sibling struggles’?”

“Nothing more than usual.”

“So how is it that Ruby could get stuff like this –” she circled Madison’s name, and then on her page circled that she’d cheated on Leo with Logan, “so right, but other stuff –” She underlined the name “Sue,” the name of book-Veronica’s therapist, “so wrong?”

“Maybe your first instinct was right: Ruby had a collaborator.”

“Yeah, but how is it so scattershot?” Veronica asked. “I mean, I didn’t even know where Duncan went to when he fled.” She pointed to the page with Duncan’s name on it. “Is it really possible he went to Australia? Is he still there?”

Logan shrugged. “No idea. But the idea that Kane money made immigration problems go away seems plausible.”

“Well, I hope that Kane money fixed the extradition problem, too.” Veronica dropped the marker on the coffee table and flopped on the couch. “I don’t think Ruby had any idea what she was doing here. She was playing with powerful people’s secrets.”

“You know what they say about truth and fiction,” Logan said.

“Yeah. It can get you fucking killed.”

She leaned forward for a coconut prawn. Something wasn’t clicking. Some of Ruby’s information was so specific, so protected, even Veronica would have had a hard time accessing it.

Say the source was in law enforcement: that would make sense of how they had access to a case file, or personnel file, mentioning an ATF agent’s connection to Norris Clayton. But what would a cop or FBI agent care about the more salacious parts of Ruby’s book? Why would they care about Carrie’s first performance on SNL? Why would a cop make up a story about Piz getting hit by a bus? Or dedicate thousands of words to a person named Jen who, as far as she and Mac knew, didn’t exist.

“Well,” she said, standing back up, this time with a green marker in hand. “We can at least eliminate some of the suspects.” On the character pages for Gia, Susan, Ruby, and Carrie, she placed a green x at the top of each page.

“Cole, too,” Logan said. “Died in a drunk driving accident a couple years after high school.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Thank God.”

She was back to fixating on the list of facts about Logan. The juxtaposition between the true fact that Logan had shitty, drunk sex with Madison, something so hyper-specific and personal, and the blatant falsehood about which college he attended was confounding.

“You know what this all reminds me of?” Logan asked.

She kept her eyes on the flip chart pages. “What?”

“TMZ. And other bullshit websites like that.”

Now he had her attention. “How so?”

“Well, obviously, they completely whiff on stories. Like that thing with Li’l Wayne a few years ago. But every now and again, they get it right. And no one understands how.”

“A gossip reporter wouldn’t care so much about the emotional stuff, though.” She gestured to the pages. “There are full chapters in there where you and I talk through every problem in our relationship. But then tucked in, out of nowhere, are these little asides. It’s almost like –” she trailed off.

She felt that pull in her gut – the one that told her she was close to something. There was something about the way Ruby’s story was framed, the layers of mundanity alternated with seedy gossip and fabrications.

On Logan’s page, she underlined Dylan Goran’s name. “Who knew about him?”

“Trina. Me. You. Aaron.” He paused. “Dylan, obviously.”

She nodded. “He could have told someone.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was mentioned somewhere in one of Aaron’s unauthorized biographies.”

“Same thing with Madison,” she said, pointing to the name. “Madison could have talked. Or, maybe a front desk clerk in Aspen. Or one of the other 09ers who was there.”

“Casey was there. Luke, too.”

“Do me a favor?” she asked. “Google your name and San José State. I want to see what comes up.”

Logan saluted her and reached for his phone.

A source. Ruby had a source, but not one in law enforcement. A source. A source with the kind of access a gossip columnist might have. But a source who wanted more than that: they wanted the story behind the story. Someone like –

“Shit,” Logan said.

She turned around; the pull in her gut grew stronger. “What?”

“I can’t remember why, but back in college Dick and I fucked off to San José for a few days. He met a girl at a party, and we dropped her off at work the next day.” Logan handed her his phone.

The headline from some creepy celebrity stalking site he’d pulled up read: Logan Echolls, future Spartan? The accompanying photo was of him and Dick walking out of the admissions office of San José State.

“We’re not dealing with a gossip columnist, Logan.”

If everything Ruby subtly referenced got out – the degree to which the Kanes manipulated systems for Duncan, corruption within all levels of the local government, connections to the Russian Mob – it would take down most of Neptune.

“I think someone is writing a Neptune tell-all.”

“And the author is Ruby’s source.��

“Or Ruby found some other way to access the author’s manuscript.”

“Which would make whoever the author is a suspect,” Logan said.

“Either way, we know who the publisher is.”

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

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galfridus1 · 6 years

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The Ten Commandments Christmas Party

So, @deadly-sins-writer and I missed the NNT Secret Santa, and so as not to be left out we did the honours for each other. Merry Christmas DSW! Hope you like this. Inspired by the panel above and cross-posted on FFNet and AO3.

***

“We have to have a Christmas party!” they had said. He had asked why. The responses had been unsatisfactory to say the least. Something about team bonding and getting into the festive spirit, as if the marks of their servitude were not enough to chain them together whether they liked it or not.

And at this moment, he most certainly did not. Galland had mercifully managed to keep Estarossa away from the stove but most of the food provided still left much to be desired. A large plate of burned cookies was being passed around, no one daring to risk a bite. A pile of fruit also lay to one side which Gloxinia was quietly edging away from as Melascyla tried to force feed him. His reluctance was understandable. The apples and pears had started to decay, white plumes of mould sprouting out of them like frost as the flesh dripped fetid liquid into the bowl. That was the last time he would ask Grayroad to help with logistics; he should have remembered that her touch brought death.

But there was some good stuff in amongst all the horror. Dolor had rustled up some human grub he’d grown fond of while in Stigma, and while it pained him to admit it the rich stew was surprisingly palatable. Pork was quite acceptable as a meat. Derieri had also done rather well, providing a large number of human souls which Monspeet was languidly munching on, and by the look on his face they were tasty enough.

But as usual, it had fallen to him to save the situation. The enormous tyrant dragon he had slain single-handed took up the whole room, and his comrades were gleefully eating it raw. It was still warm, Zeldris thought appreciatively as he tore off another chunk with his teeth, enjoying the feel of the thick blood splattering over his face as he did so. This kill had taken him hours but it had been worth it.

He had also made sure that there was enough alcohol sloshing about to satisfy everyone, no easy feat when Estarossa was chugging it straight from the barrel. His brother had bagged the best bit of the dragon for himself too. The large, yellow eye he clutched in his hand was likely to be extremely good eating. A fond smile began to form on Zeldris’ lips as he looked over at Estarossa before memories of another who used to drink that way wiped the joy clean off his face, the brief flash of humour quickly replaced with an habitual scowl. The expression came so naturally now it was like a second skin.

“You don’t want any?” Estarossa called as he thrust the barrel in Zeldris’ direction.

“You know I don’t drink that cheap stuff,” Zeldris scoffed as he stared round at the demons who were his to command. They were all pissed as newts, most of them lolling about over the corpse of the dragon as they drank themselves into a stupor. Gloxinia and Dolor were chatting off to the side, dragon meat not being to their taste, and Grayroad was no doubt floating around somewhere. Come to think of it, Zeldris was not sure if she even needed to eat or drink. The rest of them were just lazing about, clutching greedily at the many barrels of ale. Fat lot of good they would be if any goddess scum showed up.

Still, they were deep within the demon king’s castle and the odds of an interruption were mercifully small. His father, in something of a strange, puckish mood, had allowed them the biggest room in the palace and even Dolor could stand up without crouching too much. The demon king had been pleased with him for converting the fairy and giant kings and had readily agreed to endorse the festivities, even making some crude remarks about supplying entertainment if they wanted. This should have made Zeldris proud, but it didn’t. Nothing really felt good anymore.

“Right, presents then,” Estarossa called and Zeldris’ scowl deepened. His brother seemed to keep forgetting who was in charge. He’d have to take control of the situation, even though he’d not warmed to this fool’s idea in the first place. But it had been nine votes to one so, contrary to his wishes, the first Ten Commandment’s Secret Santa was now a reality. Being their leader should bring more perks than this.

“Ok, everyone come round,” Zeldris called, summoning the wrapped gifts from their spots all over the room. They floated gracefully through the air past contented, drunk faces to lie in a pile in the middle of the polished stone floor. The others all crowded round, sitting in a tight circle without being asked. That was better, Zeldris thought as he took his place amongst them, Melascyla shuffling aside to make room.

With a flick of his finger, Zeldris sent a small, flat package in green wrapping paper into the air. It paused for a second before spinning round and heading straight towards Monspeet. The Commandment of Reticence raised an eyebrow, examining the gift that had plonked itself in his lap with a haughty glare.

“Come on, open it already!” Galland snarled, his armour clanking as his arm moved with his impatience. Zeldris was grateful for this intervention. No need for this ridiculous exercise to go on for longer than necessary. Then they could get back to the dragon.

Monspeet carefully peeled back the paper, making sure not to damage it before gasping in surprise as a thick, white cloak emerged. It was made of an extremely rare material fashioned by the fairies, breathable and yet water resistant. Gloxinia cooed in awe, fluttering over to examine it, shooting Monspeet a glance of appreciation. Monspeet indeed looked happy enough, and quickly discarded his old garment to replace it with the new. There was only one person who would have bought him that genuinely thoughtful gift, Zeldris considered, and he caught Derieri’s eye with a knowing smirk.

With the first present having gone down so well, the expectations round the circle were heightened and Zeldris could feel the tension as the next gift drifted into the air. This one was obviously a box from its shape, and it whirled around enticingly before flying to Melascyla, who shrieked with glee. She tore the paper away as quickly as possible, practically ripping the box in her impatience. Inside were tens, if not hundreds of little balls of wool, commonly used as padding to help ensure delicate objects did not get harmed in transit. Melascyla tossed these away with abandon and Zeldris had to clench his teeth to stop himself from snapping at her as one hit him square in the face. A quick glare at the others however was enough to ensure no one commented.

After what felt like ages, Melascyla finally hit the bottom of the box and pulled out a headband adorned with a pair of long, pink bunny ears. Zeldris bit his lip quickly so as to suppress the bubbling laugher which threatened to break to the surface. Wondering what Melascyla would do, Zeldris was surprised to see her immediately clamp the ears onto her head before she bounced around like a rabbit, earning herself a large round of applause and catcalls from the others. Say what you like about Melascyla, she had always been fun.

Beginning to enjoy the proceedings despite himself, Zeldris again raised an armour-clad finger and a third present sorted itself to its rightful owner, this time Fraudrin. One of the newest members of the Ten Commandments, and having achieved this pretty hefty promotion purely because his better had deserted the cause, Fraudrin was still pretty insecure and was right to be so. He wasn’t even truly one of their number and was very obviously the weakest link in their chain. Most of all, he had nothing compared to the magician he had purportedly replaced. Zeldris clenched his fists as Fraudrin peeled back the paper. He did not like the former general.

After some clumsy manoeuvres with his massive hand, Fraudrin finally exposed the gift, revealing it to be a human doll. Now this would cause havoc, surely. Whoever got Fraudrin this was an imbecile, determined to put an end to the fun. It was times like these Zeldris wished Estarossa would do more to help him manage the team, but he never did. Ever since the traitor had gone, Estarossa had become one the most indolent layabouts in the entire demon realm, and the only reason Zeldris did not discipline him sharply was that this attitude was by far and away preferable to his previous sycophantic fawning. That and, if he was honest, Estarossa would be hard to beat.

To Zeldris’ intense surprise, Fraudrin just picked up the doll and looked at it. There were no yells and no tears. His head was a funny kind of shape and it was generally impossible to read Fraudrin’s emotions, but from the careful way he handled the doll, Zeldris could have sworn he was pleased. Did this leviathan of demons have some affinity with this pathetic race then? He would have to have words; there must be something in the code about not fraternising with humans, and if there was not he would add it first thing in the morning.

Next up was Estarossa who also received a box wrapped in tasteful silver paper and tied with a dark red ribbon. This package had the novelty of actually moving on its own, although magic was still needed to guide it in the right direction.

“It’s hot!” Estarossa exclaimed as he picked up the parcel, dropping it back onto the floor in his amazement. Gingerly, he grabbed one end of the ribbon and pulled. Once free, the top of the box started to bulge upwards before a flash of bright green shot out and darted all over the room with a burst of flames. Estarossa yelped like a little boy as he caught the baby dragon up in his large hands, stroking it tenderly down its spine. The beast purred loudly, before turning round in circles in Estarossa’s palm and promptly falling asleep as the others made cooing noises. Zeldris grit his teeth. Now he’d have to add something forbidding the ownership of pets to the code as well. Using his power to fashion a silver cage so that the newest member of the family would not bring destruction upon the festivities, Zeldris moved on to the remaining gifts.

The next three presentations went smoothly enough. Galland was given a book entitled ‘The Art Of War’ and Zeldris could not prevent himself from releasing a bark of laughter at the sight of the gangling mass of metal trying to peel back the pages with his spiky gloves. Fortunately the sound was drowned out but a sudden, loud snore from the dragon and the booming voice of Dolor who was showing some interest in Galland’s present. That book was an apt gift from a genius. He would have to make sure Galland read the tome, anything to improve his strategic approach to combat.

Grayroad received some royal jelly from someone on the team who evidently knew more about how this queen of demons worked than he did. The floating horror set about devouring the delicacy without delay, the sight causing most of the party to wince slightly as she hovered it up with her many death masks of faces, the slow, sucking noise causing Zeldris to grit his teeth. Still, he would have to make sure there was plenty of that in stock. Grayroad was creepy but useful, and needed to be kept on side. Dolor’s gift was a small postcard adorned with a rather good drawing of the wilds of Britannia, the words “IOU one hug” written on the back. Zeldris caught Gloxinia’s eye and a look of understanding passed between them as Dolor blushed silently. Zeldris was pleased these two had joined their ranks. They both raised the tone.

The next present was his, and despite himself Zeldris felt his hearts race in anticipation as the others started a drum roll. Most of the gifts had been fairly thoughtful but Estarossa’s choice of present had not yet been opened and Zeldris hoped he was not going to be on the receiving end of whatever his brother conceived of as humour. As soon as the parcel landed in his hand however he knew he was safe. It felt like an ornate glass bottle.

Carefully unwrapping the sombre grey paper, Zeldris’ face worked as his scowl disappeared to be replaced by an expression of surprise and gratitude. It was a bottle of aged fire whiskey, extremely rare and wonderfully smokey, made with the help of the wet, spring rains and soft peat to be found in northern Britannia. The others gasped when they saw it, and Zeldris allowed a smile to curve over his lips. In a gesture of extreme generosity, he conjured ten glasses into the air, and poured the amber liquid out. The aroma of the alcohol tickled his nose pleasantly and he felt his mouth water in his impatience. Each one of the team, even Grayroad, took a proffered glass and drank contentedly. It was excellent, the hot bite of it warming him right down to his stomach.

There was only one person who would have given him that, and Zeldris grinned broadly at Dolor, pouring him a sneaky extra glass in thanks. They had agreed on the merits of this vampire speciality only a few weeks back. This thought made Zeldris pour himself a rather large second helping, and he drank deeply to try and forget, but he was not at all surprised when the fire which spread through him only reminded him more forcefully of what he had lost. It had been about a month since he had unwillingly sealed her and her clan and he had not slept properly since.

With another flick of the finger, a spherical package rose into the air and made its way towards Gloxinia. Zeldris tensed slightly as the fairy king started to peel back the shining red paper. He’d thought long and hard what to get for the new Commandment of Repose and hoped this would go down as well as expected. Gloxinia stared at the dark ball he had unearthed, dumbfounded and unable to speak.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dolor boomed as he leaned over his friend to get a closer look.

“I think so,” Gloxinia managed to squeak out, his voice sounding thin and forced. “An orbuculum.” He held it carefully, cradling it to his chest as it shone in the candlelight.

“What does it do?” Melascyla asked curiously, sliding over to get a better view. “Looks like a lump of glass to me.”

“It’s crystal. If you look into it, it will show you the face of the person you most want to see, whether they are dead or alive. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever been given.” This last phrase came with a heartfelt tremor, and Zeldris felt more warmth running though him which had nothing to do with the whiskey he was still knocking back. When he had found Gloxinia, a blubbering mess of tears and anger, the fairy had screamed and screamed his pain at the loss of his beloved sister. With complete understanding, Zeldris had gently coaxed Gloxinia back to his normal self, and the scar of his loss had begun to fade. But the agony was still there, and would be forever. Seeing Gerheade, even if it was only an image, would no doubt give Gloxinia some comfort. He found it helped anyway.

The last present made its way towards Derieri. This had gone well and Zeldris was just on the point of congratulating himself on a job well done when Derieri let out a vicious snarl. Of course. Estarossa. What had he done this time?

“Whoever is responsible for this is dead!” Derieri yelled as she shot to her feet, her eyes raking over the assembled faces as her huge hand of darkness raised to strike.

“What is it?” Zeldris asked. It was his job to arbitrate. Derieri did have a bit of a habit of over-reacting. When she tossed the pamphlet at him however, Zeldris decided that her fury was justified. The offensive thing was entitled ‘How To Behave Like A Lady’.

“I think we can approve of you taking revenge for this,” Zeldris said suavely as he rose to his feet. “This is an unconscionable insult. You are one of our clan’s most accomplished warriors and I will not allow this go unpunished. Estarossa, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Thanks a bunch,” Estarossa muttered darkly as he glared at Zeldris. “Some brother you are!”

“And some comrade you are. This is unforgivable. Derieri, you have no need of anyone to fight your cause. You two can settle this in the usual way. But as you are the injured party, I think the rest of us can give you a bit of assistance. Dolor, would you be so kind?”

With a grin, the huge blue giant waved his four hands and a line of golems rose out of the stone. Derieri lost no time at all and started pummelling them furiously. She kicked, punched, clawed and even head-butted the huge stone goliaths to Zeldris’ absolute amazement. Her skull must be made of some seriously hard stuff.

With a raised eyebrow, Zeldris shot his brother a look of triumph as he and the rest of the Commandments stepped back away towards the edges of the room, giving the two combatants more space to brawl. Zeldris hopped onto the top of the dragon and started to devour it, ripping away the still tepid flesh and chewing thoughtfully, relishing the soft, silky texture and the metallic aftertaste. It was delicious. Watching fights always made him hungry, and the flavour went surprisingly well with the fire whiskey.

“No weapons, Estarossa. I don’t want Derieri damaged,” Zeldris called as his brother started to summon a curved blade from the air. With a look of pure loathing, Estarossa tossed the sword away and it landed with a loud clang as he squared himself up. Derieri had smashed most of the golems to pieces and was flying across the room towards her target, screaming a war cry in her rage.

“Don’t forget about his Full Counter,” Monspeet advised as he took a seat next to Zeldris, offering him one of the shining souls. Zeldris smiled; the soul tasted like pure light as he crunched it, the tang of sadness from the mortal who had built it up causing a throb to vibrate through his core. He took another experimentally and felt the appealing warm spice of anger flowing through his veins, giving him new strength. He’d always rushed these, swallowing them whole in a completely business-like manner and had obviously been missing out by not savouring the flavour.

“These are really good,” he murmured appreciatively to Monspeet, who gave a slight nod in return before passing him another.

“They are, just make sure to avoid disgust. You can tell them apart by the slight green tinge. Joy is the best.” Taking the offered soul, Zeldris bit into it slowly, smacking his lips as the sweet taste of honey burst over his tongue and a gentle contentment trickled to his hearts. The sensation was almost one of being stroked from the inside, momentarily relieving the dull ache that was now always there. It was amazing, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling. Monspeet looked at him thoughtfully, and passed him another.

“Come on Derieri, bosh him up!” Galland shouted as the rest of the demons cheered. Derieri was circling round Estarossa trying to decide on an angle of attack. She could not go for him directly of course, but she couldn’t hold off forever.

Quick as a flash, the room suddenly went black as Derieri snaked out tendrils of darkness to snuff out the candles. In the confusion, she must have attacked Estarossa judging from the harsh grunt. Zeldris summoned a soft, red light to illuminate the room and was impressed to see his elder brother lying prone on the floor, darkness smoothing over the back of his head to remove the injuries Derieri had inflicted. Most would have been permanently damaged by a hit from Combo Star after that much preparation, but Estarossa was made of sterner stuff. He stood up hesitantly, looking disheveled and dazed, but alive.

“Zeldris, no fair on the lights! They have to stay on,” Estarossa whined as Derieri flew at him again. Zeldris nodded regally as he turned his attention back to the fight. They wanted to be able to see it after all.

“Full Counter!” Estarossa put his hand out, palm facing forward as Derieri slammed into him again, and this time he hit his mark. Derieri flew backwards with tremendous force to land with a blood-curdling smack on the opposite wall. Bits of mortar crumbled away with the impact, and particles clung to Derieri’s coarse, orange hair as she staggered slowly to her feet. Zeldris expected her to build up the combo again with the few remaining golems but Derieri had other plans. Before he could process what was happening, she catapulted herself into the air, soaring across the room with a shout to land on top of Estarossa’s head, pointing her toes so that they gouged into his eye sockets.

Estarossa roared in fury as his eyes bulged. He thrust his fist upwards into Derieri’s stomach, knocking her towards the ceiling. She bonked into the stone, narrowly missing the chandelier before plummeting downwards amidst a flurry of dust, miraculously twisting in midair to right herself. Before Estarossa could react, she changed her trajectory to crash into his chest, at which point she hit him as many times in succession as she could manage, her massive hand of darkness smacking him repeatedly, pulling skin away from bone and turning muscle to pulp. In utter amazement, Zeldris watched as his brother sagged, holding up his arms in surrender. Evidently the alcohol had affected his proficiency. Derieri yelled as she clenched her fist, punching the air in triumph as a fierce grin morphed her face.

“That’ll teach you to treat the team with the respect they deserve, and to watch how much you drink. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Zeldris said kindly as he picked up Estarossa and slung him over his shoulder. His brother’s darkness had already begun to heal his many wounds, smoothing over the abrasions and knitting bits of his body back together. He would be fine by the morning.

“You’re coming back, right? This party’s not even started!” Melascyla simpered as she twirled round the room. Monspeet had found a lute somewhere and was playing it rather well and a number of the company were taking advantage of the rhythm, twisting and jumping in time to the music. Even Dolor was taking part, his graceful war dance drawing eyes and admiration as the room oscillated wildly with his efforts, the chandelier tinkling as it swung dangerously close to his head. Zeldris looked round at the many faces as they cavorted and swayed. His team all looked happy enough.

“Of course. This is the best Christmas ever!” Zeldris said to Melascyla, a rare smile spreading over his face as he carted Estarossa out of the room.

#nnt #Ten Commandments

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aetherscribe-blog · 7 years

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Writers that Changed Me

The authors of my life who inspired me to follow their footsteps.

I hate to have to decide my absolute favourites and so, for the safety of both my mind and those in my immediate vicinity, this list is not in order of favouritism.

1. Derek Landy (The Skulduggery Pleasant Series)

“Detective, magician, warrior... oh yes, and dead.”

Derek Landy is a mad genius. Not only does he encapsulate best way of “getting to the point” in a story without so much unnecessarily fluffy words but he manages to deliver this in a way that leaves me tearful in either comedy or tragedy. His characters speak and interact with each other in such witty sarcasm in even such dire situations sends me a clear message - that the readers may love and be flabbergasted by the incredible worlds that Landy creates, but his characters have no such compulsion to enjoy the dangers they are constantly thrown into.

2. JRR Tolkien (The Middle-Earth Series)

“It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

He started it all off - the hero that the fantasy genre got and deserves. I won’t lie, I do not admire Tolkien for his writing as much as I admire him for his ideas and his pioneering of the genre. He’s the reason why so many writers can spend so long on perfecting the setting of their stories, trying to imitate the rich culture and history of Middle-Earth. Without him, I bet we wouldn’t have such things as Dungeons and Dragons or many of the other fantasy role-playing games and of course, far less of the fantasy novels we know today. It goes without saying that JRR Tolkien truly changed the imaginative world.

3. Michelle Paver (The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness)

“Suddenly death was upon them. A frenzy of claws. A welter of sound to make the ears bleed. In a heartbeat, the creature had smashed their shelter to splinters.”

These books. These goddamn books. The first instalment of this series, Wolf Brother, was where it all began for me and ten years from now, I can proudly say that it was this book’s rich atmosphere that would set me on the path to being a writer. You can tell that she did her research here because for the entirety of this young adult’s book you truly feel like a stone age hunter from every animal Torak tracks to the release of air from his lungs as he looses arrows from his bow. The beautiful thing is that this book based on the ancient world is steeped in supernatural beasts and creatures, setting up my foundation love for finding wonder in a believable world.

4. Darren Shan (The Demonata and the Saga of Darren Shan)

“It is good to be taught humility when we are young. If we do not experience pain as children, we will cause pain as adults.“

Darren Shan brings out the little kid in me and subjects my inner child to untold horrors. Usually, saying such things would only result in a court hearing but here, Mr Shan does it with all that horror that involves lots of gooey blood and slime. If one were to pick up one of his books, they might toss it aside thinking it to be immature or childish and to be fair on the man, that’s the audience he was going for in the first place. And yet, when one reads on, they feel themselves becoming like the kids they once were with mischievous shenanigans and cheeky comments. Then Mr Shan proceeds to take that child and gleefully show them images of their family being murdered brutally by demons, vampires or any other horror monster he can imagine. It’s simple, straightforward and helps to bridge the gap between child’s horror and adult horror in a satisfying transition.

5. Neil Gaiman (Sandman, Coraline, American Gods and Neverwhere)

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

Nobody has ever been able to whisk me away to a whimsical and creative world as easily and in such a state of willingness like Neil Gaiman. Describing him simply as a fantasy writer would seem incorrect yet accurate at the same time, as he bases many of his stories in the real world with strange and bizarre things happening within them that the main character can’t help but tumble into. He makes many references to things such as folklore, mythology and ancient pantheons so that although these worlds are amazing and astounding, we feel an odd familiarity with them. Many writers do a good job of presenting a world and dropping the reader into it but Neil Gaiman doesn’t have to try this hard; if he shows us a world, we want to dive headlong into it.

6. Brian Jacques (Tales of Redwall)

“Even the strongest and bravest must sometimes weep. It shows they have a great heart, one that can feel compassion for others.”

The Tales of Redwall series once dominated my childhood and sat here as an adult, it took me a long time to work out just why that was. For anybody not fully aware of the Redwall books, it consists of a fantasy world which is home to anthropomorphic animals who remain locked in conflict with each other in one way or another. It would sound very tame and childish if not for unexpectedly brutal and vivid fights and scenes. Then it struck me that these animals actually personified different characters. Matthias, the mouse monk who seemed frail in stature but fierce for the defence of his friends, or Lord Brocktree, the badger warrior whose might was equalled only by his sense of justice, and Cluny the Scourge, the rat warlord who was equal parts traitorous as he was cunning and evil. These tales took a medieval world and made them appeal to the imaginative senses of children, and for that I am forever grateful of Brian Jacques.

7. Terry Pratchett (The Discworld Series)

“Stupid men are often capable of things the clever would not dare to contemplate.”

The late Sir Terry Pratchett was the greatest author the modern world has ever seen. Yep, i said it and I mean it, anybody who disagrees with me knows where to find me. You can’t really argue with the works he left behind, such as Discworld which speaks for itself as a series of 41 books. None of them were lazily done either, for those who believe it’s either about quality or quantity will realise that Terry Pratchett had both under his belt and hat. Every book was a parody so ridiculous in it’s nature that it took on a value of it’s own, every book of his leaving me in stitches more than once. This humour wasn’t even meaningless either, as every book for all it’s silliness never failed to be coupled with some inside meaning; a theme that encompassed the morale of the tale. Terry Pratchett made the art of writing seem so easy and real that all of those writers who were crazy enough couldn’t help but try it themselves. Rest in peace, Mr Pratchett. *Salutes*

8. Philip Reeve (The Mortal Engines Series)

“ “You aren't a hero and I'm not beautiful and we probably won't live happily ever after" she said, "But we're alive and together and we're going to be all right.” “

Oh boy, where to start with this one. Philip Reeve certainly had his imagination cap on for this series, as it’s hard to imagine a post-apocalyptic future where Earth cities are now upon the backs of motorised platforms, their only way of surviving and thriving is to chase down other cities and pull them apart. Anybody who is still with me at this point gets to hear the real beauty of these tales though - the characters. They have a way of tearing you away from what you imagine as a conventional hero and instead of perfect protagonists, we are given characters who could easily be seen as villains should they have made one single different choice. It takes the story and brings it down to earth, as the people who are often perfect in these stories usually end up being villains, traitors or far too nice to last five seconds in this brutal world. In other worlds, we get to cheer on far-from-perfect heroes and watch either love or hate blossom between some of the least likely people imaginable.

9. Eoin Colfer (The Artemis Fowl Series)

“If I win, I’m a prodigy. If I lose then I’m mad. That’s the way history is written.”

I remember the controversy back in the day when Artemis Fowl was released alongside the Harry Potter series and through the natural course of people favouring the latter, Eoin Colfer’s first release was often slandered as being a rip-off. Because of this unfortunate rumour that spread like wildfire, I didn’t read Artemis Fowl until recently whilst I was away on holiday. I was happy to discover that it was more like a blend of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Terry Pratchett and Ocean’s Eleven. The character of Artemis himself gives us a very long list of reasons to hate him. He’s rich, thinks himself superior to everybody else and he’s pretty much the one causing all the trouble in the story by trying to con a fairy community of their gold, as well as getting his butler to dirty his hands in his place. This should all make him the villain and yet despite all this, you can’t help but love Artemis because throughout about 99% of the story, he is the one who is in control and he is the one moving the plot forward. He is the perfect example of a proactive character who is loved, even if what he does cannot truly be seen as the right choice.

10. HP Lovecraft (Dagon, The Call of Cthulhu, The Dunwich Horror)

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest fear is fear of the unknown.”

My love for Lovecraft’s works is possibly my most recent of all the authors on this list as his is possibly the most adult of them all. When one thinks of conventional horror, they like to imagine gothic horror with supernatural beings such as demons and vampires and ghosts, beings that were created with the intention of scaring people who at one point had been steeped in religious teachings. Lovecraft created cosmic horror with the intended goal of scaring those who did not believe in anything other than science. He relied on stories of people being subjected to horrors that could not be explained by science and yet were so real to defy conventional methods of possibility. This logic-shattering experience made characters question the laws of nature themselves, often leading to the inevitable Lovecraftian fate of insanity, madness or even outright despair because the brain simply could not handle the fact that existence was being questioned as an outright lie. Lovecraft left a terrifying legacy that neyond the visible safety of the campfire, truly anything that our minds could or could not conceive could be looking upon humanity with disdain... and we would be little more than insects to them.

This was a big one, I must admit. If you were engaged enough to read all your way to the very end then thank you so much for staying with me the whole way! Happy writing everyone!

-CR

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