By the time Shadowmere and I wound our way through the mountain, the sun was setting. Purple and red rays reached from behind the clouds but we were too far in the brush of the woods to see the sun itself. I'm sure we could have made it to Dawnstar safely, but after the sun sets, the creatures get hungry and we were already both tired. So off the path a hundred steps or so, there was a grassy clearing with little mud where we set up a small camp. From the trip there, Shadowmere and I killed multiple large furs producing animals which, thanks to destruction fire magic, I could dry out and have tanned for a shelter in no time. I used a bear and two sabre cat pelts to drape over a collection of elmwood branches, then fastened them to the ground …show more content…
I turned quickly to the door of my shelter, which was pulled away to the right with a strip of dried leather, to see what caused his loud commotion. I couldn't see where he was, as he probably had went after whatever caused his uproar. So I tried to pay little mind to it. But seconds later, his demonic roar echoed through the small valley we were in. Knowing something wasn't right I grabbed a war hammer off of my armour and rushed out into the muddy earth following the sounds and sights before …show more content…
What was I going to do? I knew everything about the Dark Brotherhood, Elisif has never come up. Where had these rumors been coming from? I bit the inside of my cheek and debated myself. Cold blood revenge, or warm-hearted forgiveness. In the end of my personal debate, I chose the former. ~ We reached the camp at dark. Ezra was dirty and exhausted and so was I, but instead of settling down for the night I had much work to do. Being invited to a royal wedding as I had been, I first needed clothes, a gift and most obviously, a partner. Ezra was my pick for my partner. He was really the only choice I had. Yes, he was a dirty and sick man but he seemed around my age and could be made handsome with a good wash and trim. "Now where in Tamriel am I going to wash myself? Everything is mud!" Ezra complained to me. Luckily I knew the area quite well and sent him to a freshwater hot spring a few paces away from where we met. He returned about an hour later free of any visible dirt and grime, I smiled in approval and he blushed while coughing. "Ezra, why is it you cough so much?" I asked him while setting to work on his hair trimming. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. Always have. Parents never took me to a healer or anyone. My father was a very honest Nord, so magic was not approved." he responded
The previous week they had performed the spell successfully. After contacting Mordred, Merlin and Morgana had arranged to meet him and Aglain, the leader of the druid camp, in the woods near a small waterfall, halfway between Camelot and the grave of Gorlois. Morgana always went on her annual pilgrimage to her father's tomb at this time of the year, at the end of spring.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
I didn’t know what was happening, and I’m sure I didn’t want to find out. I started to head back to my tree when I heard a screech.
Kael ran. He pumped his legs willing them to go faster. Chin tucked against his chest, a handkerchief tied around his mouth and nose he sprinted, his feet pounding across the dry, desiccated land, cutting his way through the howling wind. Even with all his tireless training he was feeling the strain of the toxic fumes. Fire raged through his lungs spreading burning heat through his limbs and muscles, threatening to consume his entire body.
“They’re arguing about our sailing time,” replied Mark. “Specifically, why have we not departed already?” Other people added their voices to the argument, excitedly gesturing and complaining. Amos appeared crossing the companionway to the deck.
Self-Reflective Narrative: My Writing Journey Throughout my high school years, my counselor always encouraged me to take college courses. I have always done well in school, although, I was concerned about my writing ability. I did not think I was a good writer, and writing was never a topic of my interest. I was afraid of failing.
The soft pitter patter of the rain on the ceiling and windows drowned out the defining silence. The smells of old books and freshly printed papers surrounded you from the entrance to the tiny coffee shop in the corner. As I made my way over to the smell of fresh cocoa and coffee beans I ordered a hot cocoa and open the worn leathered book. The pages frail and tattered with water stains and wrinkled, my brain began to scan the page and let the story unfold and tell a story of forbidden love, rough seas, and heartbreak.
The hallways always seemed to have a chill around this place. The cold, crisp, and synthetic air the roamed through the interior of the Venator Class cruiser (fig. 1) felt better than naturally produced oxygen of a planet. Too hundreds of thousands of clone soldiers, Venator Class cruisers were home. After being in countless battles, the cruiser known as The Providence had become a well-known vessel amongst the outer rim territories. This cruiser was what CT-2532 called home. CT-2532 was just his rank number, he preferred to be called Jex.
I believe writing is an extraordinary way of expressing feelings. The level of piecing together thoughts and putting them down on paper for others to read is an art in its own. Since I was a young child, I have incessantly journaled. However, my love for journaling came to a screeching halt in middle school. My personal desire to write about what I loved intertwined with the extreme guidelines and requirements that came with school. With this, came my slowed interest in writing. For years, I lost close to all interest in reading as well as writing. I would constantly question the true purpose behind essays and realized I spent more time rebelling than digging deep into literature. However, this all changed between my junior and senior year of high school.
It had been a succesfull raid to be sure and Booth was more than happy with his share of the spoils. He had just overseen the sale of the stolen goods and had devided the money, so that every man got an equal share. Well of course not every man. He was the Captain and it was his ship. So of course he got more than the others. It was only fair, since he endured most of the risks.
He patted my head and asked if I wanted to eat cookies and held my hand. We walked into the house and disappeared behind the doors. I smiled one more time. I
In class we were given the opportunity to read and describe the meaning of the poem The Road Not Taken . I instantly felt connected to the poem because everyone here has had a few tough decisions to make in their lives, and I have had many bumps in my road. Back when I was about four or five years old my mother got off the phone and stared out the window and cried. I didn’t know what to do or say so I said the thing that I say when I heard something interesting on the phone.
How to survive in the woods Imagine going through the woods having a nice evening stroll, but then you realize that you do not know how to get back to your camp. This could be interesting but since you are not sure on what to do for anything like starting a fire, food or water. Just like you over 2,ooo people a year get lost in the woods. A major thing you will need to do is find water otherwise you will perish in three days if you are without water. You will need some help on working through this problem you are in.
My earliest pieces of writing can be found in the attic of my house amongst the mice and holiday decor. These journals from my elementary school hold a myriad of tales consisting of animals of various locations befriending each other and bettering one another's life. In a neighboring area of the attic written reports about the pyramids and different types of clouds can be found from my summer writing my mother forced me to create while I on break. This attic holds a majority of the history of my writing and how I became the writer I am today but instead of climbing up a decrepit ladder into the dark one can simply look to my father for the origins of my actual writing career.