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