Mrs. Bezzingtol's Inn

The fire flickered and danced in the corner of San's eye, lighting her squinted lashes like twinkling candles in the night. Her playful white plume bobbed sharply for a moment as the scratch of three words crossed a page. Then another long pause as the flames fell into their ember beds, waving a slow and silent goodnight. San seemed not to notice. Her line of sight focused endlessly on the swirling storm outside, an icy curtain surrounding two stoic figures. They had not moved for hours, and San's eyes had not left them since they first arrived on the scene. Like a sculptor sizing her model, she wrote every detail of their existence into the page at hand, from the stiff lean of their bodies against the wind to the flapping tips of their identical pointed hoods.

Thump! Out of nowhere, a stack of books landed on the edge of the table, sending San's ink bottle twirling precariously across her page. A bulbous red face settled into place over the books, propped at a lazy angle on a thick, pink forearm. San blinked until her eyes could focus on the dimly-lit room again, slowly turning her head up towards the rotund intruder. "Good night, Mrs. Bezzingtol. Can I help you with something?"

Mrs. Bezzingtol wiped a few frizzy red ringlets out of her face, letting her arm fall in next to the other beneath her chin. "Not at all, dear." She smiled a wide grin, both toothy and toothless wrapped together in hideous courtesy. An expectant look hovered underneath her merry features, but it was just out of San's reach.

The girl took in a breath to speak, but found herself at a loss in front of the large woman's strange friendliness. One sharp black eyebrow furrowed, she glanced down at the page before her and made a small note before salting the surface. Dropping the quill and stopping the bottle, she allowed her eyes to wander to the thick stack of books. "Doing some late night reading, Mrs. Bezzingtol?"

Mrs. Bezzingtol lifted her arms and looked down at the books as if she had only just noticed that she was resting on them. "Oh, my. No, I...hmm...now what were these for?" She slapped her arms back down, leaning her weight onto the stack as she bent to read their spines. "Everyday Eavesdropper, The Village Spy, and The Girl That Didn't Sleep...No, I've no idea what I meant to do with this lot..." Mrs. Bezzingtol looked back up to San, a humored glimmer in her wide yellow eyes.

San paused, unsure what to say to the kind but meddlesome woman. She slowly rolled her paper, then looked up with young, earnest green eyes. "I'm not hurting anyone, Mrs. Bezzingtol..."

Mrs. Bezzingtol laughed, throwing herself backwards a step or two. "Is that what you think I'm worried about? Hurting that silly old couple out there?" She swayed towards the window, throwing it open and stuffing her face into the blustery white wind. "Hey! Isn't it high time you two got back to your knitting and warm milk? Your knees are probably frozen solid by now!" Latching the window shut again, Mrs. Bezzingtol chuckled and sat down next to San, running a thick finger over one of her tight black braids. "No, I'm just worried for you, my dear. It's been a long time since I had a restless boarder. I like to see my children awake in the early hours of the morning after a good night of sleep, not after they've chased their dreams away for another time."

San shifted, collecting her materials and rising from the tavern bench with a thin smirk. "Well, perhaps it's been too long since you met someone that can see dreams while her eyes are still open." She crossed the room to the stairs, turning as she placed a hand on the banister. "They're everywhere, Mrs. Bezzingtol. Rolling off of our breath in the cold winter air, trailing at our feet as we skip through petals in spring. I can look at anyone and see their dreams." San's far-off look fell back as she laid a warm eye on the patroness still seated at the table. "Anyone but you, Mrs. Bezzingtol."

Mrs. Bezzingtol rose, looking weary as she turned to douse the light by the front door. "Anyone but yourself. Those aren't your dreams, San. They'll never be yours."

San frowned and nudged her body into motion, rising up the stairs one ponderous foot at a time. "Good night, Mrs. Bezzingtol."

Transcendence WIP Part One

Transcendence is the name of the concept that Wes and I have been working on for Senior Team Project. Below is the story that I've been weaving for it, whether it makes it to the game space or not.

Who is behind Transcendence? The answer is long, and necessary.

There was once a very large civilization that learned to defy gravity, to the point that their entire population lived floating in the sky.

This society had friendly relations with certain other civilizations on the crust of the earth, but the nature of their home allowed them to simply pass over anyone that did not wish to meet peacefully.

They believed that it was their spiritual connection to the elements of nature that allowed them to bend the planet so liberally to their will. Because of this, spirit guides were an important part of society.

On occasion, this society would adopt young children or babies from other cultures into their own. However, the process of Ascension was in-depth, requiring the child to be fully integrated into the religion of their world before they were taught anything.

Every child was allowed to keep three things from their past life. If the child were too young to choose, the parents would bestow gifts. Pictures of the family were almost always given, as well as quilted blankets or painted vases that could tell the story of their heritage.

One child was brought into this society carrying the religious text of his home people. It was deemed a potential threat, but in the hands of such a small babe, no one thought it would be treasured as anything more than a book of fairy tales...they were wrong.

When the boy was only 10 years old, something terrible happened. A major disaster was foreseen by the spirit guides. This disaster promised to be so monstrous that no one would survive. In an attempt to ready themselves for the impending calamity, the sky-dwellers found a way to propel their civilization farther into the clouds than ever they'd been before. Those on the ground begged to be saved. Friend and foe alike were left behind, left below.

This young man was heartbroken to hear that his parents could not join him in salvation. As the city launched up towards the sun, he clutched the photos of his family, palmed the cold metal of his father's compass, and read every word of the book he'd been left. Until then, it had only been a relic of days gone by. But in that moment, it became a solution.

In that book was named a place where all life could be preserved. At the ends of the earth, solace could be found in the arms of great golden boughs. In reading this, the boy knew that his parents would believe and seek out that mythical safe haven. He knew he must find it too.

When he went to the spirit guides, they gasped in horror, for the holy place of his parents' beliefs was the source of all chaos in their society. After ten more years safely hovering over the planet, as they descended back to an ice-encrusted, snow-tossed world, they refused to travel towards the ancient land. But they offered the boy-turned-man an alternative. They promised him a place as captain of an expedition ship, set to search for survivors in his home country.

Now, they call him The Deceiver. There are no stories of what he did, because he left none to tell them.

There are no stories of what he did, because he is not done.

Untitled WIP

In the quiet village marketplace, warm bodies stretching out from their homes stirred up the scent of grain and livestock. Although the sun was still climbing towards the tallest reach of the sky, the watery eyes of old men reflected desires for their youth, when the country brooks and streams invited them into their icy flow after ceaseless romps through the fields. Muscles straining to untie swollen sacks and barrels, the local population fell into idle chatter about the day's business to come. With their faces unconsciously turned in any direction that pointed towards family and a cool bed (which would wait many hours yet for an occupant), none saw the nobleman ride in on his glistening chestnut steed. A wearied sense of interest pulled their eyes round to him as he dismounted, clasping his hands and meeting their tired looks with blazing energy.

In many respects, Sir Arden's gallant demeanor bespoke of arrogance and embellishment. His broad chest and thick arms were always poised in a rigid state of disuse, his wavy red hair a brilliant crown adorning his perfect mask, along with deep blue eyes and a winsome smile. Despite appearances, however, he was a humble and generous landowner. He leapt from stand to cart, addressing every peasant by name and only sometimes confusing one pair of children with another. His laughter, brassy and unrestrained, quieted the murmurs of the townsfolk, but it left behind twinkles and dimples of kindled mirth.

One left untouched by Arden's spirited arrival was a young stable boy, Tad. His limp straw-colored hair shading his ice blue eyes, he skirted around the hustle and bustle, letting his gangly stature fold down into a hunched, unassuming shuffle. On a normal day, Tad would be the life force fueling the merriment in town, but this was never the case when Arden came to visit. Tad had no strong dislike for Arden, but he felt his softer, childish joy would only go unnoticed in the older man's shadow, and so he allowed himself to pass unseen as well. Until the two knocked arms, that is.

As Arden regaled his last battle with the barbarous tribes of the northern sea, he struck a dramatic pose in what he claimed to be a likeness of the king himself. Attempting to position himself against the closest wall, he backed straight into Tad as he skulked past. Stumbling and dropping all airs of importance along with the sword in his hand, Arden wheeled about and looked down upon Tad with the utmost concern. "Are you alright, young lad?"

Tad's eyes met fleetingly with the sapphires of the knight, but he quickly broke contact. "Yes, sir. All's well, sir, no need to stop your story. I was just clumsy 'bout my business, sir."

Seeing that the crowd had already turned back to selling their wares, Arden knelt to sheath his sword. Pausing mid-bend, he squinted and gripped Tad by the shoulders, smiling roguishly. "I don't believe we've met, my boy. I've seen you, though - always rushing here and there without saying a word to anyone. What's your name?"

Tad raised an eyebrow at the gloved finger being wagged and thrust at his nose, but he let none of the skepticism sink into his tone. "Tad, sir. I'm a stable boy at the tavern here. Run by me ma'am, 'til her knees gave out anyway."

Arden's smile brightened. "Ah, Kate, a sweet old doll she is. I'm ashamed to have known her so long and never realized the relation between you two. My deepest apologies."

Tad bowed his head awkwardly while letting his thoughts run over everything he knew of the lord before him. If he were to rid himself of this conversational clown, he'd have to do it carefully and without insult. A moment of pondering, and his features lit, beckoning the nobleman's attention. "Tell me, sir, how is your lady?"

Arden sighed long and lightly, throwing an arm around his captive listener as he waved his hand in the air before him. "I dream her into my presence at every hour of the day. She calls to me from a sun-splashed ocean of reeds, the lake behind her awakening pale greens and blues in her forlorn grey eyes. Her voice echoes like a waterfall on smooth rock, lulling me into her distant embrace. Even now, I can feel her rich, bronze locks twisted upon my fingertips."

As the enraptured man clenched his fist around the sunlight, Tad frowned and peered up. "Are you speaking of Lady Faith? Doesn't she have straight hair? Rather black if I remember..."

Arden made a guttural noise as Tad scratched his head in feigned confusion, but he quickly flashed his pearl white teeth. "Lady Faith? I'm sorry - I thought you inquired after my mother." In an instant, Arden's arm dropped from the boy's shoulder and his clenched hand lowered, pointing in an ambiguous direction. "If you'll excuse me, I had a bit of a story to share with...um...the fletcher Marcus about his young boy Stephen."

"Eric?"

"Eric!" Pointing ever more enthusiastically in his undecipherable gesture, Arden marched away with a stiff grin and a brief nod. Tad laughed quietly, wondering how long it would take Sir Arden to realize that everyone knew he no longer pined for his betrothed. Stopping himself in the thought, he dolefully recalled that the only one more oblivious than Sir Arden was Lady Faith herself...

A Game of Words

The man was slinking through a meadow, body doubled over well beyond the height of the tall grass. Insects buzzed all around him, but his ear was tuned to a different sound. Amid the thrum of flies came the clear, sweet sound of bells, tinkling ever so faintly.

He continued to weave across the field, following the distant ringing. As it grew louder, he heard tiny gasps of desperation. Finally, he found her; a tiny wood fairy, trapped under one of the very logs she adored. At the sight of a human, the dainty sprite trembled and attempted to curl up under the life-threatening but protective object.

"Don't be afraid, little fairy. I know what you are, and I have seen your kind many times before. Would you like me to help you?"

The small woman seemed hesitant, but clearly she was in need of assistance. Her frail head bobbed up at the man in a pleading gesture.

"Well, all right. What is it you'd like me to do?"

The fairy paused, wondering if the old man were absent-minded and completely unaware that she was trapped. In a wispy, flute-like voice, she chimed, "I want you to get me out from under this log."

The man knelt down, his eyes running over the surface of the wood. "You wish to be free of your physical burden?"


The sprite stopped herself again, but slowly nodded. "Yes, I wish to no longer be trapped."

The old man smiled and touched a fingertip to her forehead. Slowly, her body disintegrated and fell into the sack he held out as no more than tiny flecks of golden glitter. "My pleasure to assist you."

Lola and the Doll

Golden glitter rained down on the fragile doll, caught in the twists and flares of her spiky red hair. Sliding across her tan arms, some came to rest in the ridges of her gauzy orange dress. Two flashy yellow eyes were deftly painted onto her giddy face, and a small, gleaming ruby was carefully lodged over her heart.

The tired old man wiped his brow and set down his tools. Looking over his creation, he could see nothing wrong. The doll's thin limbs were posed as if mid-leap, graceful and dangerous. Satisfied, he lifted the delicate figure and set her back on the shelf. As he did so, he let out a long sigh.

At the sound, a small child came scurrying into the room, her wild brown curls bouncing behind her like an ocean wave of coffee. Peeking up at the desk from tip-toe, she marveled at the completed addition to her grandfather's collection.

"Papi, what is that one?"

The old man lifted her onto his stool and pointed gently. "That's a fire sprite. They're very beautiful creatures, but they only hurt people."

The girl's large green eyes remained fixed on the new toy. "Why would she hurt people? She looks really happy."

"Fire sprites live only in flame. They will burn through anything and everything without even noticing."

"Can I play with her?"

The grandfather looked over the girls rapt features, mild concern creasing his aged face. "Perhaps when you're older." It was the answer he knew she hated most and heard most often. "Time for bed, lovely. Up we go."

Swiftly, the girl was lifted from her seat and tucked into the smaller bed in the corner of the room. Nestled in with her teddy bear, the old man kissed her on the forehead, pretending not to see her pout. "Sweet dreams, child."

Within minutes, the grandfather was fast asleep and snoring in his own bed across from the workbench. In practiced silence, the girl slid out from under her covers and climbed slowly back up onto the stool. Scowling at the gleeful doll, she pulled her from the shelf, glitter scattering everywhere. A few flecks drifted towards the nearby candle, bursting into magnificent flame upon contact with the burning wick.

Surprised, the little girl stared at the candle for a moment. Slowly looking back to the doll, she was met with the strangely blissful features that seemed almost to beckon for the candle's warmth. Her tiny brow furrowing, the girl carried the doll over to the tiny fire, and as the tip of her dress caught the flame, her form flickered into life.

Stretching with joy, the sprite eyed the little girl. "Thank you for saving me from my prison."

The little girl smiled widely. "You really are real. Will you play a game with me?"

The sprite grinned back. "I'm afraid I don't play well with others. But I like to dance...would you care to watch?" The girl nodded enthusiastically, and stood entranced as the sprite began to twirl on the desk. It was only as she noticed the burning hole below the sprite that she began to show concern.

"Stop it. You're ruining Papi's workbench."

The sprite stopped twirling and squinted narrowly at the child. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I've been a terrible guest. Allow me to take my leave." She lunged onto the child's head, setting her brown locks ablaze, and crashed through the window. At the sound, Papi awoke and scurried over to his granddaughter. He swiftly doused the flames on her head, but most of her hair had already disintegrated. As the child looked up, her crying eyes shined a burnt yellow where emerald had dwelt only moments before.

Fire and Water

A ribbon of flame and cinders leaping from her fingertips and toes, the fire sprite danced through the sky. Touching down on the lush green grass of spring, she shot up into the air again like a firework, leaving behind her a growing ring of flickering orange and brown. Bounding along in blissful ignorance, her burning trail of disorder grew across meadows and valleys, over mountains and through glens. Ripples of fire spread and rose, an accidental inferno made from careless celebration.

Swinging around sapling trunks like dancing poles, the sprite move through the wilderness with surprising speed. As her joy escalated, she began to propel forward even faster. Barely able to contain herself, crackling giggles burst forth with her popping tap dance of destruction. Her giggles swelled to a hysterical cackle, roaring with strength.

Suddenly, the sprite stopped mid-step. Before her, a towering tree giant had halted in his daily trek through the forest. A bucket of water fell from his stony fist, the other hand still poised with dew-soaked fingertips to nourish the young trees. Unmoved by the tongues of flame that began to lick at his feet, he surveyed the devastation. Heartbroken beyond words, a tear fell from his cheek, sizzling in the fire. As it evaporated, the small fire sprite began to fall apart and drift away on the wind.

Accountability is an inevitable part of every world.

Tree Man

The monster lurched, his feet compacting the earth several inches with each gargantuan step. Limbs made of rock and bark pushed through the undergrowth of the dying forest like a hand sweeping away a cobweb. His arms were gently lifted out to each tree he passed, the dew sprinkled on his face masking him in starry grief.

Finally, he reached the spring; it glittered with eternal hope in the center of a lush green meadow. Unable to help himself, he rushed forward and fell to his knees before it, trampling the tall grass in his fervor. Laying his hands on the ground and muttering desperate, incomprehensible words, he shook his head and wept openly. After only a moment, the spring began to glow and shimmer.

Out of the bubbling water leapt a tiny green fairy. Her wings were like leaves, her hair a ferny mass. Giggling as she reached a twiggy arm towards him, she picked up one small dewdrop from his cheek. Blowing it into the wind, a chorus of joyful voices chimed up out of nowhere, singing a heavenly lullaby to the forest.

“You want your home to grow anew?”

The tree giant nodded his head vigorously, black eyes sparkling.

“I cannot raise what is dead. But I can grow new life over it. Things are going to change. Embrace it and be grateful that no new life has grown over you yet.”