Cynthia A. Morgan's Blog, page 18

Summerfest – #Fantasy #BookTeaser

 

The vale for Summerfest was on the boundary of the village, set against the backdrop of Veryn Falls, a waterfall that plummeted steeply from the heights of the Ryvyn Mountains. Splashing from hundreds of feet above, Veryn Falls’ crystalline waters were cushioned by a multitude of moss covered bastions and ivy-laden arches, and the waters fell, ‘plashing and laughing, into an emeraldine pool that stretched out its bountiful hand at the base of the falls and flowed onward through the village, supplying water and life to all.

The broad clearing around its bejeweled precincts sparkled with hundreds of tiny lanterns strung through the surrounding forest canopy and was brightened by cheerful fires and glowing torches scattered throughout. Tables of food and fountains of drink were placed advantageously, musicians played the flute and the drum, the lyre and the lute, dancing lacewings flitted and darted, and the entire scene was alive with palpable joy and anticipation.

As the seasons shifted , the fey of the light gathered together for a celebration of color and brightness. They dressed in glittering, bejeweled costumes; decorated their homes with sparkling lanterns, filled their porches and gardens with fresh fruit, crisp garden vegetables, sweet baked treats and sugary indulgences for any passerby to enjoy, and played a multitude of musical instruments in a discordant symphony of jubilant sound.

Parading along the avenues from home to home in dancing, fluttering, gleeful revelry, fey of all ages delighted in the company of their friends and family while eating and drinking the sweet temptations of the season, and at the end of the evening’s festivities, all fey, young and old, joined together to venerate the arrival of the Season of Light.

They gathered in the Clearing of the Stars, where the forest canopy contracted and one could gaze up, out of the darkling hedge of ancient trees, into the glittering night sky, enchanted by the glowing moon and the sparkling stars overhead. Drawing together, they began the Incantation of the Changing Seasons led by their village Celebrant, their voices subdued and solemn after a full day of laughing and singing. As they spoke the lyrical invocation, they paced through an intricate dance, which marked the ending of the darkness and cold of winter and the beginning of the growing and gathering seasons, with austerity. Bowing, pausing, stepping, clapping, pausing, clasping hands, turning, releasing, passing, turning, pausing, spiraling, clapping and repeating until the midnight horns rang through the clear night air.

Life and Light were in their fullest glory on this fair night, dazzling the eye from the heavens overhead, spilling verdant green from the forest canopy, blossoming in sweet beauty and supplying bounty for every life. It was the last day of the Season of Plenty, the pinnacle of joyful abundance and Light loving fey everywhere rejoiced for the profusion.

Discover more here

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Writing and Art by ~Morgan~

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ChrayvulGlyth – Dlalth Citdel – #DarkFantasy #WorldBuilding

World building is crucial in any fantasy worth it’s salt, and I’ve put a deal of effort into creating a dark and foreboding realm for the Dark Fey Trilogy.  Pronounced with a gutteral CH as in the composer’s name Bach.   Chray…Vool…Gleeth

This is a city in the Uunglarda, the Realm of the Reviled in my Dark Fantasy series, The Dark Fey Trilogy

A Snippet from Standing in Shadows-Book Two of the Dark Fey Trilogy

Darkness lay thick and unyielding like a heavy mantle that smothered from every direction at once. Pungent and prodding, the intense murk was sooty with the condensing smoke of a thousand fires, which was the only source of light permitted in the, otherwise, bleak city. As it curled in the streets and avenues, turning frequented ways into misleading paths that made even those most familiar with them turn about more than once to reorient themselves, layers of damp mist leached downward from the leaden sky. Out of the dimness that poured from the ashen buildings and sank from above, voices of discontent and misery echoed among the shadows. Unmistakable cries of torment serrated the dense atmosphere; yet, from those same environs, delirious laughter also careened into the brooding night. The opposing sounds confused the ear and twisted the heart with uncertainty and dread.

The city was rank with a foul odor that was sour and reeked of sulfur. It was the city’s chief source of kindling that burned in grates and braziers. Drawing close to these fires in order to escape the permeating cold and extract some meager warmth or to find any sense of direction also meant breathing in the malodorous stench that twisted the stomach until it could be born no longer and chased the one seeking momentary solace back into the shadows. There was little warmth in the darkness. An unshakable, seeking chill melted through clothes regardless of the protection of layers. In the ominous gloom, buildings seemed to press together to stay warm, their misaligned, shoddy workmanship betraying their untended state. Some leaned precariously, some were half fallen over in tatters, some were little more than a collapsed hovel and on every street raucous taverns and brothels tainted the air with lascivious noise and drunken abandon.

Through the curling shadows and dusky fog, a willowy, silent figure moved. Draped in an obscuring confusion of shadow that it seemed to carry along with it, the figure stole silently down the street. Muffled by the thick smog that twisted in the air, the form made no sound whatsoever, but drifted past the raucous taverns and foul brothels like a ghost brazenly wandering through the haze. None who passed this cloaked figure took notice of it. No heads turned as it paused at the corner beneath a spluttering lamp of burning, sulfurous, gas. Not a single bystander gazed in its direction as it moved silently down the narrow street towards the edge of town and when it turned the corner, disappearing into the blackness like a shadow melting into graying twilight, no trace of its passage was left behind.

Turning the darkened corner, the ebon shadow paused, the silhouette of its garments contracting as if the figure were doubling over and a muffled sound, like that of despair, slipped outward into the murk. Silence greeted this hushed cry, but as if in echo, a child’s wail pierced the heavy gloom. The keening sound was not close by, yet it pealed through the dismal atmosphere like the sharp clangor of a tolling bell and all who heard it shrank from the sound, stifling the evidence of such misery in whatever escape lay close at hand. The amber liquid contained within a bottle, the glittering secret injected directly into veins, or the fleeting, wanton embrace that left a deeper yearning than what it satisfied were momentary releases from the anguish of everyday life.

As the half seen figure stood motionless, the piteous sounds of the city gathered around it like moths drawn to an open flame demanding to be noticed in spite of the listener’s desire for deafness. Reality in the Uunglarda was caustic as acid and burned just as deeply and it compelled the figure to move hastily onward.

 

 

Discover more here

Find my trilogy here

Writing and Art by ~Morgan~

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Cascading Melody – #Poetry of the #NaturalWorld

Cross the Skies that Rain Starlight,

Dripping Moonbeams Upon my Door,

Casting Shadows, Ethereal Bright,

Tides Endlessly Caressing the Distant Shore.

Waking Hours Find me Dreaming,

Upon my Pillow I Cheat the Sun,

Drifting like a Comet Beaming,

Flying where No Others run.

Cascading Melodies Pour from the Sky,

Dispensing Logic into the Fray,

Silence Echoes, Soliciting Why?,

Spinning Eternity, Day by Day.

.Poetry and Art by ~Morgan~

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Alignment – #Poetry for #Meditation

 

End of DayWhisper of Night Tranquil moment in Serenity’s sightCaress my cares With your Gentle handSing soft and sweetof that faraway landWhere Dreams pirouette and shadows playWhisper of NightEnd of Day.Poetry and Art by ~Morgan~

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The Life of a Legionnaire – #DarkFantasy #Teaser

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Blaylscith scattered in all directions through puddles of murky, gray water as a battalion of mud-spattered Legionnaires tramped into the bustling encampment.  Straggling behind the main group and panting with over-exertion, a second unit followed closely, but unlike the former, who marched in unison and carried their weapons with strength and purpose; those who followed were ragged and in visible disarray.  Many of these bore scars that stood out in vivid contrast against their pallid complexions and others nursed fresh wounds; a testament to their harrowing existence, which was exemplified when the unit came to a halt and many stragglers stumbled or nearly collapsed out of fatigue.

When the battalion of Demonfey ahead of them stopped, they stamped the ends of their spears into the ground or clapped their swords against shields as they voiced a growling, unified exclamation that echoed along the bleak way and sent shivers of fear through any who heard them.

“Raah!”   These were the Legionnaires of the Realm; fiercely loyal to their Centurion and vicious of nature, not only in battle, but with any who crossed them.  Their uniforms were spattered by the mud of the road, but they were in good repair; made of finely worked leathers treated with oil to repel water, and their weapons were fashioned of exceptionally-wrought steel by skilled Dlalth hands in the forges of Vrasduuhl, the centermost and chief city of the Uunglarda.

In contrast to this disciplined, brutally efficient regiment, those who followed behind were under-nourished, poorly equipped with second-hand, over-utilized weapons, and wore clothing that had been repeatedly patched, were soaked through from the pouring rain and distinctly unclean.  These were Legionnaires who had been forced to undertake their oaths of service after years of harsh punishments and deprivation.  They were the insignificant and the irrelevant; the expendable vanguard who would suffer the greatest number of injuries and fatalities before the highly-trained, ferocious Demonfey ever stepped onto the field of battle.

As icy rain leeched down in heavy torrents, the battalion of Demonfey were rapidly processed and sent off toward the tent where hearty provisions awaited them.  The remaining Legionnaires were left standing in the downpour with little thought to their comfort or the fact that several had fallen out of utter exhaustion.  Lying in the pooling rain, their needs were ignored by those standing round them.  They were all fully cognizant of the fact that any display of compassion would only result in further torment or punishment, but although they were weary beyond measure and, in spite of the fact that some had not eaten for days, they stood in the downpour with grim, mute endurance and waited.

Long after the Legionnaires of the Realm had enjoyed a satisfying meal, one of the Captains returned to those still waiting in the rain, who were now shivering violently from weariness and exposure to the elements.  Compelling them to undergo an inspection, the Captain first released only those who were still able to follow his instructions while he callously ignored those who had fallen or who could no longer force themselves to obey.  Sending the first group off to the provisions tent to scavenge whatever food and drink might remain, the Captain then summoned one of his Lieutenants who carried a barbed lash.  Mercilessly, he stalked through those few who remained hunched against the deluge, handing them the lash and forcing them to beat those who had fallen until they scrabbled, wailing, to their feet.  Only when all the remaining nonessential Legionnaires were once again standing, did the Captain give consent for them to join the others in search of any provisions that might yet remain.

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This is a snippet from book three of the Dark Fey Trilogy, Breaking Into The Light.  It is an unexpected insight into the life of a Dark Fey Legionnaire.  Book three of the series is filled with shifting perspectives as both sides learn to See each other as they truly are, opening the portal trust and, ultimately………

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Writing and Art by ~Morgan~

If you’d like to keep up with everything I’m doing, sign up for my monthly newsletter by visiting my author website

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Silent Screams – #EarthDay #Poetry of the #NaturalWorld

Champagne Creation

In Whiskey Brothels Murdered

Weeps in Silent Screams.

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I know, I’m a day late, but it was too important to not post.

Poetry and Art by ~Morgan~

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If you’d like to see more of my artwork, please visit my DeviantArt page

What Is the Good Life? – #FindingBalance

What is The Good Life?

If someone came to your door with a bouquet of roses and an oversized check for 100 Million dollars, what would you do? Would this be a blessing or a curse? So often we believe that the acquisition of Much is what we truly want; that having more is far better than having little, but is affluence and the attainment of wealth what we truly seek? Is it ultimately satisfying? Does it fill the heart, mind, body and soul with that incomparable sense of accomplishment and purpose that drives us?

Or is Less truly More?

What is the plan for our life? The vision that is intended that will satisfy all of our needs, not merely monetary ones, but those that keep us questing after the intangible. In this season of plenty, when the harvest comes under the sickle and is gathered in before the long, dark night of winter, should we perhaps take stock of what we have and what we are being given? Plenty… yet, what is Plenty? Is it just enough to meet our needs, keep us from being hungry, cover our heads from the wind and the rain, or is it excessiveness that compels us to desire more?

If what we have is truly enough; if what we wake up with in the first light of day gets us through the day, keeps our tummies from rumbling and our beds warm at night, then what do we do with the excess? Do we even consider it excess? Shouldn’t we consider it excess? Because, perhaps there is someone, somewhere,human or animal, who doesn’t have enough to make it through the day. Maybe somewhere, someone has a rumbling tummy and is cold, wet, afraid. Maybe the excess we have could take that gnawing pain away, if we extended it. Twenty dollars may seem inconsequential to you or I, but what if that twenty dollars, or ten dollars, or fifty dollars meant the world wouldn’t stop turning for someone?

Balance is the true design of the universe. We know this; it is inexorably written on our hearts and into the very fabric of our beings, which is why we are filled with such inexpressible joy when we are able to touch the life of someone else and make a difference. What we are given in excess is precisely what someone else needs, for the precise reason that we can give it and be blessed in the giving. It is this inscrutable mystery that binds us together and makes each one of us absolutely necessary.

It is our own generosity that will generate an abundance in our hearts, minds and spirits of those things that truly give satisfaction. Joy. Love. And that Sense of Accomplishment, that Awareness of Purpose we all desire and strive for, and which, inescapably, makes us hungry for more. It is a circle, a rhythm of balance, a wheel, but whatever you choose to call it, it is what keeps life turning. We are given blessings so that we may bless others and be blessed by the giving in return. Even the thought goes round and round.

So the next time you are about to buy that extra cup of coffee at Starbucks simply because you have an extra fiver, or when you decide to schedule a manicure because you got an extra large tip or a bonus, take stock of the harvest of plenty that has been laid store for you and consider what small ripples you may generate in the Sea of Change.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photography found at: lighttouchphotos.com

Beneath the Elms – #Fantasy #Poetry

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Portal of Temptation and Guise,

Splendid Ruse of Intrepidity,

Conveyance into the Unknown Beyond,

Passage defying Reality,

Open your Ethereal  Door,

Leading to Unspoken Realms,

Whisper not of dire Suspense

Beneath the Ancient Elms!

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Poetry and Art by ~Morgan~

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Embrace – #LovePoetry

You Surround me,
Warm me,
Your Touch Melts through Me.
Your Heartbeat Fills my Senses.
Your Breath Caresses my skin.
Your Whispers Close my eyes.
Passion Spreads like a Fervent Blush.
How Deliciously Sweet is this Embrace!
How I Wish I could stop Time in this place!
I would Remain in Your Arms Eternally,
With You Surrounding Me.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Lauri Blank

Perfection in Unity – #LovePoetry

Long We have been separated, Love,
Though in the Dawn of Existence, we Kissed Each Other Sweetly.
Born of One Spirit,
Lingering in Breathless Anticipation,
Sharing Each Thought,
Each Breath,
Each Moment,
Unified in Perfection, Perfection in Unity.

Birth brought division, separation, desertion,
Calamity of loneliness and confusion.
Each day I have sought You,
Seeking the Beauty of Your Eyes,
Listening for the Allure of Your Voice,
Reaching for Your Exquisite Hands,
Yearning for the Splendor Your Touch,
Desiring none but You.

Alas, Love, my Search was Fruitless.
Stolen Time, Ineffectual Years,
Breaking the Hourglass of Patience,
Diminishing the Essence to Pallor.
Inescapable Longing.
Silence.

Until A Glimmer Escaped the tedium,
A Question Poised on Possibility,
Hope Sprung from her hiding place deep within my Heart
At Seeing You,
Recognizing You,
Though I knew not Your Name,
Certain only of the Pounding of my Spirit,
The Trembling of my Heart,
The Longing Intensified.

Waiting
In Patience, Praying
In Diligence, Believing
In Expectant Certainty.
You Are He!
Made For Me, Made With Me,
Sweet Handsome Harmony to my solitary Melody.
Breathe with Me, Again, My Love,
Unified in Perfection, Perfection in Unity.

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Poetry and Art by ~Morgan~

If you’d like to keep up with everything I’m doing, sign up for my monthly newsletter by visiting my author website

If you’d like to see more of my artwork, please visit my DeviantArt page