Appalachian Writer's Guild

(Author's note, Darkov is my D&D Character from our last campaign) Darkov leaned against the balcony of the fortified manor overlooking the town of Phandalin, once nothing but a backwater town in the midst of ruins, now it was a prosperous and bustling commercial hub for the traders and merchants thanks to the rediscovered  Forge of Spells. It had not been easy for Darkov to become the Lord of the town, his father had initially refused to even consider it, but unlike the many times before that Darkov had simply submitted to his parent's commands and wishes, this time he had a fire in his spirit and made demands, not requests. The arguments were heated and the night long, but by morning Darkov had left his ancestral home escorted by most of the Castle's Housecarls, and a few compromises.  The land had been once claimed by some old lord long in the past, his bloodline had been weak and faded into the pages of history. So when the flag of the House of Kov flew above t

“Sharon, do you need to feed the animals?” “Oh yeah, I forgot!” I run to my room, put on my working boots and grab my keys. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” My mom nodded and I walked through the murky darkness to my beat up car. The drive to Chloe’s was quick since she only lives across the highway from me. I parked my car in her driveway and pulled out my phone as I turned off the engine.  I only had 6% left, but I thought if I took care of them fast enough, my phone would survive and I’d still be able to use its flashlight instead of hauling around the huge metal one I had in my car. So I got the house key and opened up the house, I fed and medicated the dog, Kennedy, leaving the food bowel outside before locking up the house again. Knowing my battery was barely going to make it, if that, I ran up the hill to the goat pen. I went into the feed house to get his food, and in the back of my of my mind I thought it was kind of weird that I didn’t hear him in his shelter.

"I had no reason to kill Paladin Traven!" The small elf stated firmly, his voice showing obvious signs of panic and confusion as beads of sweat slid down his narrow face. "You have to believe me! I don't remember it all!" The detective sitting across from the table leaned forward, his short dwarven frame counteracted by the fearsome scowl that caused the taller elf to shrink and shake. "We found you holding the sword that killed him." He said in a low feral voice. "And the warlock confirmed you weren't under any spells at the time so, if it wasn't you, how do you explain that?" "I DON'T KNOW!" The elf squeaked. "I don't remember anything before you threw me into the police car!" "He didn't do it" I jumped at the cold feeling of specter passing through my body at materializing beside me. "Why do you say that?" I ask the faint figure standing next to me looking through the one-w

This month proved distracting for the Guild. As such, this challenge is optional. Our apologies for any inconvenience. Challenge: Pinterest Prompt Items: Cinnamon  Tea Next Meeting Date: November 5th, 2017. -The Appalachian Writer's Guild Team

The beeping of my alarm pounded into my skull with horrible uniform. I reached around for the battery operated beast and finally managed to silence its screaming. I sat up groggily, and plodded to my little kitchen to cook a hearty breakfast. And by that I mean toast. I don’t like eating much before working. I sat at my table, fidgeting with a pencil like a baton, writing notes on the scrap sheet of paper in front of me. Deep into intense thought, I twirled the pencil faster. Bang! A sound came from outside my apartment. In start I jerked my head toward my door. Snap! I look down as the broken pieces of my pencil. I sigh and throw away the now useless pieces of wood and grab my notes. I stuff them into my work bag and place all of my other necessities in as well. On top of everything else, the last thing I put in, is my gun. I zip up the bag and head to work.

“Your tea sir.” I nod and mutter a quick thanks as the server places the cup and napkin on my table, preoccupied with the stack of papers sitting in front of me. The Raleigh to Washington line requested a new engine as detailed in the specifications in front of me, a letter from the Railway board requesting my opinion on the new Diesel locomotive technology, a slight tinge of concern at some of the success it's been having in Europe. Is it the future? Will my beloved Steam Engines one day be obsolete? I set down the folder and pick up my cup, the cool perspiration a welcome feeling in the steamy Louisiana heat. The cool brown liquid inside is refreshing and sweet, and for just a moment as the blend of tea, cane sugar, and ice cold water fills my taste buds I am transported away from the oppressive temperature and consider the good of this city. New Orleans, wealthiest city in the South. And looking at the cars driving by you could see it, well-dressed ladies and silk-suite

The gray blankness outside the window draws my already wandering attention away from the hideously mundane task at hand. When I decided to become a literary student, I was filled with anticipation. I didn't expect the very act of reading to become as odious as it has. Before me sits the usual assortment of objects; a half eaten crust of bread, a chewed up pencil, the dreary and miserable half finished paper on Romeo and Juliet , and my faithful and painfully ignored copy of Jane Eyre . A groan escapes my lips without my former knowledge as I push away from my desk. Even the heavy mist outside captures my attention better than the necessary evil of attempting to ferret out the deeper meaning behind the idiotic young love-birds. If you ask me, the meaning isn't all that deep at all. It's beyond me why literary professors insist that Shakespeare was doing more than making a darkly comedic commentary on young love and early marriage. My body contorts in a long overdue s

The lead of my pencil snapped off with a resounding crack, the culmination of my frustration with how my writing was going, so i pushed my chair back a little and took a deep breath, letting the calm notes of the smooth jazz i was listening to sink in. “Mmmmurgg” i grumbled, the brief respite not sparking any ideas on how to continue forward with the scene, so I tried a different approach, acting the scene out loud like i was directing a screenplay, no dice. I wondered what elements i could add to push the scene along  but everything felt too contrived to actually make sense so i dropped that train of thought. I grabbed a blank piece of paper from the other side of my desk, wadding it up and throwing it into a waste paper basket as i picked up my pencil and rolled my chair over to the pencil sharpener in my studio, but i didn’t stop at it, instead i rolled over to the window to look outside. Just a few hours ago the day had been bright and sunny but a light rain had descen

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It’s a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life… He had such a knowledge of the dark side, he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying. The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. He became so powerful… the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Ironic. He could save others from death, but not himself.

Meeting Date: September 3rd, 2017 Story Challenge Details: Mundane Scene (description) Items: Bread Broken Pencil The next meeting is scheduled for October 1st, 2017. If you have questions, comments, or are interested in joining the Appalachian Writer's Guild, let us know! We are now on Facebook, so check us out there! Email:  appwritersguild@gmail.com Facebook:  drop in and give us a like! -Appalachian Writer's Guild

(Oh my gosh I know this isn’t my best work but it’s something.) Why am I here? Airavata looked around at the, suffice it to say, odd group that she impulsively decided to join probably because she had a few drinks too many. But maybe it was better than the alternative: sitting in a bar dwelling on her past. Her past. Birthed from a hermit, and dumped in the nearest village. Her mother was likely not the best role model. Which is probably why Airavata wanted to become a hermit herself: to show her up. She was taken in by a young woman and raised until the age of thirteen when Airavata left for the nearest nunnery. There she was the ideal nun, and strived for perfection every single day. When she was twenty, the Abbot from the monastery her nunnery was under came to visit. Airavata shuttered at the thought. If someone gives you a bad vibe, don’t be in a room alone with them. The Abbot was there for a scheduled inspection of the nunnery. After first inspecting the nuns,

I laid face down in the mud, the ground running slick as the rain continued to pelt the ground and break up the ground, the dirt changing just like my life had when the dark lord Demerakzar the Heinously Diabolical destroyer of whole worlds and dimensions and stuff had decided to destroy my whole village specifically but accidentally spared me when he remembered he’d left the oven on and said that he had spent all the time he could to play with me. So i just laid there wondering about all the things that had precisely gone wrong to bring me to this point in my life, like the time when i was eight years old and i tripped and face down in the grass and all the other kids of the incredibly generic fantasy village laughed at me. “Yeah,” i said out loud to myself as i stood up from my prone position, “i should have seen this coming after that happened.” “What happened here?” a mysterious person who i knew literally nothing about but immediately identified as a mentor like char

“Don't you skirt around the issue Petokov!” A sharp female voice stated just a little too loud. “I'm not! But we are not in conflict!” A gruff, tired male voice replied, “I agree with you, the boy needs to get some fire in his heart!” Dar leaned closer to the floor of his bedroom, ignoring the loud torrent of rain outside as he focused in on his parent's conversation. “Then why haven't you put it in there?” His mother asked. “When that crazy witch stabbed Sir Tasher in the face, he ran!” “I know!” “His own sword instructor! Killed in front of him! You've been soft on him Petokov!” There was sigh loud enough to be heard through the floorboards. “SarinKov, you always told me I was running the boy too hard, he's not a Knight but a wizard, he needs to study and read books. And yet you're surprised when he folds like paper rather than staying strong like steel?” “I...” The mans voice was more annoyed now. “I didn't give him sword instructions

Meeting Date: August 6th, 2017 Story Challenge Details: Coming of Age Items: dirt rain The next meeting is scheduled for September 3rd, 2017. If you have questions, comments, or are interested in joining the Appalachian Writer's Guild, let us know! We are now on Facebook, so check us out there! Email:  appwritersguild@gmail.com Facebook:  drop in and give us a like! -Appalachian Writer's Guild

I crouch in wait, my body tense, coiled and ready to spring. I was given one objective; to kill Him . I spent a lifetime of training for this single job. And now, for the fifth time, He is here. He stands and talks and laughs like the happiest man on earth. Would His countenance change if he knew that in just a few short moments, He will be dead? Perhaps not; he's a narcissistic son of a bachelor with no conscience and no fear. Perhaps that is why the Master wants his dead so badly. He nods his head to the grinning shark-of-a-man who he calls his friend and sets his champagne flute on the table. He straightens his tie and turns his footsteps towards the mark. I move silently, like the shadow that I am. I have no name, no history, no purpose except to kill the Man. The Man moves next to the mark. I wait. He pauses, I can see a glimmer of a smirk curling his lips upwards. He straightens his back, slips his tail coat off. And sidesteps onto the mark. My body reacts b