Pritesh Patil's Blog, page 4

Of Heroes & Villains

Oftentimes, when we read books, we come across such a character who strikes a chord with us, a character who feels like one of our friends. But at times we come across a character who transcends genre. A character who hits the golden note with the reader in such a way that one would imagine they would work well in any setting.

One such character for me – and perhaps for many who have indulged in the occasional (or perhaps not so occasional) Fan Fiction – is Harry Potter.

“I’m going to keep going until I succeed — or die. Don’t think I don’t know how this might end. I’ve known it for years.”

– Harry Potter.

For all faults many find in her series, in the guise of Harry, J. K. Rowling has created a character who truly transcends genre. The Harry Potter series works as young adult fantasy, or urban fantasy, but the beauty of the character himself is such that he will work just as well if placed in any other setting. With a few tweaks to his persona, Harry would fit right in the world of the Dresden Files – Harry meets Harry, now that would be one encounter I’d pay to see! He would fit just as well into the world of Hellblazer with John Constantine, or Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, or in the television show Supernatural. He would be perfect even in the DC or Marvel comics.

In fact, he’d even make a good addition to the world of Sherlock. Or Sherlock would make a great addition to the world of Harry Potter, another character who transcends genre.

And that brings us to villains.

Having a good antagonist is as important as having a strong protagonist, perhaps a cliché, but nonetheless one which is true.

One of the most nefarious villains I’ve read of has been Nicodemus, bearer of the fallen angel Anduriel, leader of the Knights of the Blackened Denarii. Indeed, Jim Butcher has created an extraordinary group of villains in the form of these knights in his Dresden Files. Hateful, twisted, each with their own hidden agenda, these fallen led by Nicodemus make for great characters and add much depth to what is an already rich world.

“Apocalypse is a frame of mind. A belief. A surrender to inevitability. It is despair for the future. It is the death of hope.”

– Nicodemus Archleone.

As Joker says to Batman in Nolan’s Dark Knight, ‘You complete me,’ or as Moriarty says to Holmes in modern Sherlock, ‘We were meant for each other,’ there is much wisdom and truth in those words. Great villains lead to the creation of great heroes, much like the forging of a strong blade in the hottest of flames.

After all, without darkness, there can be no light, and without hope, there can be no true despair.

So, who is your favourite character? A character which transcends genre and which you’d love to see in another universe and story? Heroes you who have stayed with you over time? And which is a villain you love to hate?

Let’s have a discussion about this, eh?

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Eyeballs

Aindrila was an aspiring author, a talented one even, but after her first taste of success, she yearned for even more. But in those days success was hard to come by, and the ones who spent the most money got the most eyeballs. Her writing was pure, her muse was happy, but Aindrila wasn’t content with the slow, steady nature of her success.

“Eyeballs, I want more eyeballs. No, I need more of them!” She screamed in a fit of rage and agony.

And so she made a deal with a demon. No, not any demon, but with the King of Hell himself, Crowley. She was willing to sell her soul, but that wasn’t enough for Crowley.

‘The market is saturated with souls. People are willing to sell souls for a slice of pizza and good fries. Nay, I want something more, something I can use,’ he said in his slick, oily voice.

‘Whatever you want, take it, take it, but give me what I deserve’, said Aindrila, in desperation.

‘Your muse’.

‘Take it!’ Screamed Aindrila, ‘But help me…help me,’ she said softly.

‘Done,’ Crowley smiled. ‘Go home and sleep, you will have what you want when you wake up’.

Aindrila smiled her deranged smile, and ran home gleefully. After all, what was the trading of a mere muse when she was getting so much more in return.

She went home and fell asleep, thoughts and dreams of fame, renown, book signings and movie deals filling her head.

When she woke up the next day, she felt a heavy weight on her. She tried to get up, but the weight only increased, and she felt trapped under some squishy, fleshy substance.

She opened her eyes and she saw that her room was filled to the brim with eyeballs. Squishy, squashy, glassy, eyeballs, whirling here and there, some with blood still on them, staring at her in horror, holding the torment they’d suffered before being pulled from their bodies.

As she suffocated and drowned in those vicious eyeballs staring at her, wishing their anguish upon her, she began laughing. A hopeless sound, full of despair and excruciating terror.

Oh how she laughed…even as she drowned, as she realized that she would become famous after all, but only as a victim when the reporters and cops found her, much like the victims in her stories.

Finally, her laughter turned into a gagging sound as one after another, the eyeballs entered her mouth and choked her to death.

-Fin-

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Musings with the Muse

“So…”

“So?”

“The New Year’s almost upon us.”

“Ah, the New Year, yes. Got a lot of plans for it, I have, old thing”.

“And where do I come in those plans?”

“You, you my love, are the most important part of it. You shall take center stage! You shall have a year for the ages!”

“You said that at the start of this year as well”.

“I did, didn’t I? Well, you know, things happened, and there was stuff to do, and then there was that exam, and then that one, and then some more work, followed by even more work, coupled with my constant existentialist crisis. Things got a little out of hand, y’know that, old thing”.

“…Things got out of hand?”

“Erm, yes…?”

“And you call me the most important thing in your life?”

“I do! I do! I swear it by the Old Gods! I swear it by the power of Time itself. You’re the only one for me. No other passion is as strong, no other love burns as fierce.”

“I don’t believe you. And I plan to leave you”.

“Wai-what? You plan to leave me? But I’m nothing without you. Without you I’m incomplete. Without you life is an excruciating agony of listless mundanity. Please don’t leave me, I’ve pledged my soul to you, you know that, my love”.

“I know you’ve said that, but I’ve never seen proof of that. Your devotion is as empty as your words”.

“Do not be so cold, O Light of my Heart. Do not be angry on this old chap. I’ll do anything to assuage your anger, and prove the strength of my passion”.

“Anything?”

“Anything!”

“Then save our sons and daughters and our world”.

“Save them?”

“Yes, save them. Be their voice, tell their story. Do not let them fall unwitnessed. Do not let them fade from Time and Memory. Bring Him down from the Blood Moon. Reconcile Gramps with his grandson. Release Drake. Release the Old Gods. Bring down the Apocalypse, let the Cults run riot. Let the Chained Daemons walk free once again, unleash death and destruction…And then save them all. Save the world. Save our children. Write the book. Write their story.”

“Write…”

“Yes, write. Let words flow through the inky river of blood and sweat and emotion. Write.”

“Write…indeed. It shall be as you will, my love. The stories will be completed. The books will be written. The tales shall be immortalized, and the world will be saved.”

“And that is all I have ever asked, my love. Go now, may your quill move fast as a falcon, and your imagination run wild and free as a Dragon unleashed”.

“It shall be as you wish, O Muse o’mine”.

“Thank you, my love.”

“No, thank you, old thing. For now, and forevermore, thank you”.

 

-Fin-

*****

 

P.S. – Yes, that is what happens when your muse gets angry with you ignoring your writing and your stories.

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Locomotive Breath

“Come on Pa, walk faster, we need to get off the tracks before the train comes,” said Mir.

“Yes, Pa. We’ll get you all patched up and healed once we’re there. The plague won’t get to us, we’ll live,” said Vir, hacking and coughing even as he smiled at the frail figure of his father trudging along on the snaking railroad.

“I’m walking-” cough, “- I’m walking,” their dad muttered feebly.

That’s when they heard the horn of the train, trumpeting loudly as it rolled forth like a juggernaut in the lonely woods, roiling smoke left in its wake.

“Faster, pa, faster,” said the younger son. “The train’s approaching, we need to leave the tracks!”

The elder son did not say anything, he only increased his efforts to pull and push their father sideways, trying to find a clearing to the side where they could hide from the incoming behemoth of smoke, steel and iron.

Alas, there was no such clearing, no hidey-hole to be found.

The gargantuan beast moved closer, ever closer, screeching and screaming as it devoured the tracks.

The family of three looked around wildly, but there was no escape. Death was here. It was everywhere, all pervading, and none could escape its clutches.

And then the Locomotive swept over the three travellers, with Death claiming the last of the villagers trying to flee its ice cold grasp.

Slowly, softly, the noise of the engine and the trumpeting horn of the locomotive receded and faded, moving off to destinations unknown.

…And the ghosts of the three travellers woke once again on the railroad, as they had for the past hundred years. Lost to time, lost to life, lost to death. Eternally riding on the railroad of the in-between, forever forsaken.

They had escaped the clutches of death, but peace was forever lost to these haunted souls, now haunting the forlorn railroad, hapless victims to Locomotive breath.

*****

P.S. – Yes, the title is a reference to Jethro Tull’s song of the same name. Tip of the hat to all those who got it.

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The Duel: Hermione VS Bellatrix, Where Insanity and Instincts Collide

Note: I do not own Harry Potter and this is FanFiction, purely written for fun and as a writing exercise- Unless I am JK Rowling and I don’t know it, which would just be weird. With that out of the way, let the story begin!

Intelligence Meets Insanity

Hermione ran through the Forest of Dean, the thorns and brambles tearing at her already tattered clothes.

She ran as fast as she could, not caring about the direction, as long as it was away from her pursuer.

Jets of spellfire burst through the undergrowth, barely missing her as she ran wildly, trampling green grass underfoot.

She’d been tortured and humiliated by her assailant twice – she still had the scars on her arm to remind her of it – she wouldn’t fall in their clutches a third time, and so she ran, ran as fast as her tired and bleeding legs could take her.

She jumped over a fallen tree trunk and missed clearing the brambles which suddenly came up before her, cutting her left cheek and drawing blood. Ignoring the wound, she continued onwards, randomly throwing spells to hinder the progress of her assailant. It wasn’t a tactic she liked, she would have preferred using stealth and cover to escape her pursuant, but Bellatrix Lestrange wasn’t one to be easily fooled, even if the Death Eaters with her were mere grunts without an iota of intelligence between them.

Her breath caught and she could feel stiches in her side as her strength began to give away, but she didn’t slow down. She’d rather die than be tormented by the Mistress of Torture herself.

The woods were thinning before her, and judging from the sounds behind her, she’d managed to harm or lose the grunts, and only Bellatrix was pursuing her now.

But that thought didn’t bring her any joy. The Death Eaters with Bellatrix would have only slowed her down, but now without them dragging her down, she could revel in her role as the hunter chasing her prey.

Hermione hoped to clear the woods and be out of the range of the anti-apparition ward soon, but it looked like it would be a near thing.

Hermione could hear the crazy Lestrange’s baby voice mixed with panting as she mocked her.

She thought of her previous humiliation at the hands of the twisted witch, the losses that she…Ron…Neville…Harry…all of them had suffered at her hands and made up her mind.

It was now or never. Even death wouldn’t be too high a price to pay if she could bring down Voldemort’s most trusted and vicious Death Eater with her.

‘Third time will pay for all’, a small voice from her childhood chimed in her mind. It was the voice of her mother reading out Gandalf’s words from the ending of the Lord of the Rings to her. A soft tear rolled down her cheeks at that thought; a thought from an innocent time, from another age.

She blinked the tear away as she crossed a small clearing, hid behind a stout tree at its edge, and muttered the first of the many spellchains she’d invented. Her boys had fondly called it the ‘Granger ghostform’ when she’d first pranked them by using the chain. That thought lit her face up with a small smile.

A mixture of the disillusionment charm, the shield charm, and the Lumos and Nox charm, this spellchain effectively rendered the user invisible while also adding a layer of protection from most attacks, depending on the magical strength of the user.

The moonlight sifted through the trees and bathed the small clearing, painting an image of ethereal beauty. She could have stopped and admired it, had it not been for the madwoman on her trail. Hermione quickly carried out a mass transfiguration on the leaves, grass, and broken pieces of wood in the clearing as sounds of her pursuant grew nearer.

There was nothing overt in the transfigurations she’d just done, but she hoped that when the time came, they’d be worth all the energy expended on them. She stood with her back to the broad tree trunk and slowly drew in soft breaths. She wanted to pant and huff, but that would give away her position to Bellatrix, and she needed every advantage she could get if she was to fight and defeat the one of the world’s most powerful and insane witches.

She mumbled another couple of spells and shot them upwards. Then, she waited.

After a couple of minutes, the menacing figure of Bellatrix Lestrange entered the clearing. She slowly stepped into the moonlit meadow. Her eyes gleamed with darkness and the promise of pain. Her hair was in its usual bushy, mangled state, and her black robes had been shredded and torn, cutting her skin in many places. Hermione smiled at this, happy to see that her assailant hadn’t emerged unscathed from the chase.

“Liddle Her-my-ninny, come to Bella, stop hiding liddle baby guuurl” cooed Lestrange, her baby-voice more sinister than any threat of torture.

“Come out, come out, weedle guurl, come to play with mama”, Bella’s sing-song voice resonated in the silence of the night as she stepped in the centre of the forest.

“Now, no-” but her next words were cut short as the stone, rocks, and debris on the ground began attacking her from all sides. Hermione had heard enough, and instigated by the Death Eater’s words, she’d begun her attack in a flurry of cold, cold, rage.

The twigs snapped and broke against Bella’s body, stones bruised her and made her bleed, as Hermione activated the transfiguration spell she’d carried out on the clearing. The debris went into Bellatrix’s eyes, partially blinding her, and she made to shield them from the miniature hurricane of dust and rocks. Hermione conducted the hurricane like a small orchestra, maximizing the damage to the witch who’d made her suffer so much loss. Stones hit her, breaking the skin, drawing blood, bruising her bones, and Hermione made them go faster and faster from behind her hiding spot.

Suddenly, Bellatrix started cackling and laughing manically despite all the pain, and in one swift draw, pulled her wand and shot an entrail-expelling curse towards Hermione, who barely managed to duck behind the massive tree trunk. Sadly for her, the force of the spell was enough to rend the tree in two, expelling splinters of wood in all directions.

Hermione ran beyond the trunk, barely avoiding it, and her spellchain deflected most of the wood chips coming at her. She continued to conduct the mini hurricane as she ran, not giving Bellatrix a moment to breath.

Despite her relentless attack which would have easily overpowered lesser witches, Bellatrix seemed to revel in the chaos of the fight. She laughed harder with every hit, the pain just spurring her on.

Mocking, cruel laughter. Cackles of madness as the insane witch laughed at Hermione’s every attempt, now blithely ignoring the debris and easily shielding that which could seriously harm her.

“Is that all widdle Hermy Granger can do? Even her muggle parents were better opponents”, cackled Bellatrix.

That was the wrong thing to say. Mention of her parents and the damage the witch before her had done to them drove all rational thought from her mind, and Hermione attacked. She attacked without abandon, channelling all her fury and rage through her spells. Her fear turned to anger and hatred, and a coldness spread through her, a coldness which only wanted to cause harm to the person before her. It was a madness which gripped her, the battle-drums ringing loud and clear in her ears. But her fury and need to hurt the witch was different from Bellatrix’s insane need to cause pain and torment. Where Bella was all passion and raw emotion, madness, insanity, and a twisted love for her Lord driving her actions and spell, Hermione’s fury was like hardened cold steel forged in the hottest forge of hell, before it was thawed in the icy, emotionless pit of death.

She used a spellchain she’d vowed to never use again. One of the darkest spellchains in her arsenal, one invented not by her, but by the Half Blood Prince and his classmate in school – she still found it hard to believe that it was a chain invented by Snape and Lily together at Hogwarts – though it had been discarded due to its volatile and uncontrollable nature. A spell chain which had been perfected by none other than Harry Potter in their seventh year together. She still shuddered when she thought of the first time he had used the spellchain at the end of their seventh year. The spells in the chain had one function, and one function alone – to utterly decimate your foe. Utter annihilation and glorious death, and the Light’s golden boy, Harry Potter had perfected it.

It still made her retch to think of the dead bodies which littered the Hogwarts ground when Harry had showcased his sheer might and shown Voldemort the true depth of his powers. That was the first time that she had realized that Voldemort was right to fear Harry. Her Harry. He had vast potential in him, terrible potential. He was truly the Chosen One. Not by destiny anymore, but out of choice.

And she remembered her own strong opinions against using the spellchain ever again, their huge argument about it which had almost ended their friendship.

Oh how silly she had been. No, not silly. Innocent. Despite their adventures, she was far from the true brutality of war, and only Harry who had continuously suffered under Voldemort’s evil had truly understood it.

But she was innocent no more. She would do what had to be done to rid the world of the evil that was Voldemort and his Death Eater’s. No more was she the innocent child who would scream in agony under her foe’s not-so-tender mercies.

She half laughed and half roared her challenge to Bellatrix, whipping her wand about and letting the hurricane of debris conduct itself as she let loose one of the most potent and devastating spellchain’s in existence. A spellchain which she’d only used last time when she had come face to face with Lord Voldemort himself while Harry had been grievously injured.

No more would she fail, and she screamed, “Novem Virens Drakon Ictus, Ventoverso Sectumsempra, Ignis Inflammare, Az-Raeth, Crucio Maximus”.

Nine-way Dragon flames followed by a raging Whirlwind of Sectumsempra, laced with barely controlled Fiendfyre and finished with a Crucio which would send concentrated pain through every nerve of her target’s body.

Black flames blazed the meadow, attacking Bellatrix from nine different directions, ever changing and flashing with raw heat.

The Half-Blood Prince’s prized creation, the Sectumsempra flashed and swirled in the wind, many slashes of an invisible sword at the edges of a raging tempest of wild wind.

Fiendfyre, fire from the blackest, harshest pits of Hell. Fire which was alive. Fire which had a mind of it’s own, mutating and transforming into many beasts – Dragons, Sphinxes, Gryphons, Nundus – all reflecting Hermione’s anger, fire which she only managed to control with extreme concentration and iron will. Fire which threatened to engulf the world and the meadow in death and destruction, unleashing the demons of Hell.

And Bellatrix danced. That crazy, evil, vile witch, oh how she danced!

Evading the flames, dodging and blocking them with bursts of a shield as black as obsidian and pitch. Black as her soul.

:lThe sectumsempra’s died on her shield, only a few managing to graze her as she twisted and turned between their sharp, invisible edges

A few drops of blood, that was all that she lost, that was all. Even Lucius Malfoy had been unable to evade this spellchain. Bellatrix, she truly was a demon in Human form.

Only the Fiendfyre managed to keep her at bay, the fiery personification of Hermione’s anger making the witch dance to an ever-changing, incessant tune.

Only the fires of Hell could match the grace and madness in motion that was Bellatrix Lestrange. Only them.

Bellatrix’s obsidian shield of darkness began to mutate as if it had a life of its own, twisting and turning when the witch couldn’t, shielding her from mortal wounds, letting her escape with barely a few searing burns.

If ever there was a battle that was beautiful in its deadliness, if ever there was a duel which was grace and death personified, it was this. The battle that had the ability to change the course of the war.

The fight that could tip the tides in favour of either sides. And it was unwitnessed. Unwitnessed save for those burning in the fires of Hell, given life again for a few moments to rage their hate and anger on the world through the avenue of Fiendfyre.

Lestrange leaped over the flames attempting to lick at her feet, she missed those devious flames by mere inches, avoiding death with each small movement, every little turn.

And she laughed, oh how she laughed, a horrible, cackling sound enough to give the very fires of Hell pause, enough to make the crackling flame wither for a second at the insanity and genius of the witch they were attempting to devour.

Then the crucio maximus struck, avoiding her darting shield of blackness, striking her on torso dead centre.

It is said that the cruciatus spell is derived from another spell, one whose origins had been lost to the sands of time. The cruciatus was said to be a much weaker version of its original form, one which had been rediscovered in the second blood war against Voldemort. One which even the Dark Lord rarely used, since the agonizing pain of the crucio maximus was enough to kill most people in mere seconds.

And here Bellatrix was hit by the spell dead center, and she roared. Roared with pain and laughter. Roared in ecstatic agony. She had finally found a worthy opponent. An opponent she would delight in destroying. Oh how she laughed… The cackles haunting the forest of Dean forevermore…

And then the most feared witch of her generation, Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenant, the most ferocious of the Black sisters, she turned and attacked

“Az- Raeth, spiritus revilus, blood-bound daemon, shadow-mist, Noir Nox”

Bellatrix Lestrange’s famous spellchain. The one which she had only ever used thrice. The one she had developed under the tender guidance of her Master.

The first when she had faced the Marauders for the first time, then when she had faced and destroyed the Longbottoms, and finally when she had faced him. The Chosen One. Harry Potter. And now she would use it to crush the mudblood who had been a constant thorn in their plans. A worthy spellchain for a worthy opponent, she grudgingly admitted.

Fire. A harsher version of Fiendfyre, her own creation, made with the help of her Master. Fire which channelled the deaths of her previous victims, their fading energy and parts of their soul stored in her wand let loose in a massive torrent of silver, unearthly flames.

The flames which screamed, the final tortured cry of her victims caught in the moment of death by her wand and now unleashed as a blast of raw power and hate.

Oh the irony, her victims and their deaths were being channeled and used to aid her beat the White Witch of Hogwarts.

The next spell raised the very spirits of the forest. Those spirits and revenants who feed on despair, hate, and are fuelled only by a desire to do great harm to others. To turn mortals into spirits like them and share in their infinite misery. And sadly these spirits are found in abundance all over.

The next raised a blood bound demon of the nether chained to her body and will to attack Hermione.

Shadow mist drew forth the shadows in a roiling inferno of blackness, obscuring her from view. Its intent – to wear down on the will of the caster’s opponent, to make them give up and seek the solace of death.

And the last, perhaps the most dangerous of them all. Noir Nox. Based on the Avada Kedavra but a million times harsher.

Noir Nox. Black Death. A spell to obliterate you from existence. To wipe out your very soul from the fabric of time and send it spiralling in the void of Tartarus, where monsters and daemons of all shapes and forms resided in perpetual agony. Where your soul would be held forevermore and used by them as entertainment. A place where even the King of Hell feared to tread.

And for the first time in her life, Hermione gave up control of her mind and reason. She let her emotions and instincts control her. Let that primitive part of her brain take control which would spit in the face of death and face greater opponents with reckless abandon if it could guarantee survival. She remembered Harry’s words after his first true battle with the Dark Lord, when he had told them how he’d managed to come out unscathed. “I gave in to my emotions. I gave up on rational thought and let my instincts of survival take over. I let my hatred, my anger, my fear and my agony free, forging it into a savage need, a desire to survive and succeed, and then I attacked. I let my love for those who had fallen for me, and those who I would not let fall in my stead overcome and drive me forwards. And I attacked the Dark Lord with all that I had, giving into the most primitive part of my being, where thoughts of life and death were far away and beyond, where only utter annihilation of the enemy was necessary. Love and Hate, two emotions working in tandem, dancing a glorious dance of life and death, and I let loose at the Dark Lord. And I survived.”

And Hermione truly gave in to her emotions.

She drew her wand and ripped out her fastest spellchain. Not a really powerful one, but one that would do the business.

Reducto Totalum and Protego Aurus, 14 spells one behind the other all hurled within mere moments of each other.

The first made short work of the spirits attacking her, while the shield of Gold kept the blackened flames at bay as she jumped and moved to avoid the arms of the dead revenants.

The shadow mist hang heavy in the air, making her want to give up and give in to the sweetness of death and take her away from all the pain of loss she had suffered over the years.

But she was far beyond the shores of rationality and her instincts remained unaffected by the dread mist.

Incendio argus and invictus aurelius exorcised the demons and revenants, freeing the shades of Bellatrix’s victims and letting them fade into the peace of death.

But as she maneuvered and turned, the black stream of Noir Nox was almost upon her.

The stream of darkened shadow was almost upon her, and just as it was about to hit Hermione, she thought of a memory, one of her first memories in Hogwarts, and almost with a smile, she enchanted, “Wingardium Leviosa”

A stone, no bigger than Hermione’s fist rose into the air and shielded her from the incoming jet of blackness just as she dived out of the way, buying her a few precious seconds as the spell lost force and power on the stone, obliterating the dear rock from existence.

Bellatrix Lestrange looked at her, shocked that a first year spell had saved the mudblood from certain death. No. Not death. Obliteration.

Her silent spell which had transfigured the fallen logs into a couple of Griffins, Nundu and a rabbit in a monocle had finally managed to bring down the blood guardian demon of Lestrange’s.

“Intelligence trumps insanity, bitch. May the fires of vengeance and grief burn you forevermore” said Hermione, and as Bellatrix looked at her, confused at these words, two sharpened stakes descended from the woods above. Even in her surprised state, she managed to evade one, but the other got her in the back, puncturing her abdomen and tearing out of her stomach.

Blood and entrails made a mess on the floor, and the greatest of the Dark Lord’s supporters, the only one who had ever truly loved him with all her blackened heart, bled in the Forest of Dean, falling at the hands of a mudblood, one who she had despised with raw hatred.

Hermione walked towards her slowly, and removed a colt from her enchanted moleskin pouch. She cocked the gun and stated at the witch who had ruined many families and many more lives over the years in her eyes.

“You can’t do it, can you, Granger…” She hacked and coughed as she spoke, “Taking a life in cold blood, not up your stree-”

But another coughing fit stopped her words as blood fell from her mouth.

“Give my regards to the Devil, bitch” Hermione said as she raised her gun.

“You can’t, Granger…mudblood, you don’t have the-”

But the rest of her words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot. And as the bullet embedded her skull, Bellatrix Lestrange breathed her last in the Forest of Dean.

“Don’t worry, we’ll send your Master to you soon, Death Eater”, and with that, Hermione drew a piece of paper from her moleskin pouch, wrote a small note on it, turned it into a portkey and threw it on Bellatrix’s still bleeding body.

As the body behind her disappeared and she made her way to apparate to Hogwarts, she wondered what the headlines of the Daily Prophet would say tomorrow, after all, it wasn’t every day that a dead Death Eater – and a Lestrange at that – turned up in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic with a note to the Dark Lord that he was next.

Whatever happened next, one thing was certain, the War would only escalate, but she wasn’t afraid. After all, she had Hogwarts by her side, and she had her friends, who would always welcome her home.

 

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Lost Gods

On the edge of the abyss they sat, reminiscing days of yore when they ruled the world, when they were worshiped as Gods. Now mere paupers, only their love held them together – a flimsy strand of gossamer binding both entities for eternity. They sighed wistfully, immortality had taken its toll on them, and they desired release. As one, they stepped of the precipice. The land opened up below them and the world-weary lovers plummeted to Tartarus, holding each other in one final embrace before the void stole them away. Two lost Gods, floundering, fallen.

 

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There’s Something about London…

There’s something about London

That magical place, the center of the once great British empire, and now the culture hub of the world; or at least of Europe.

There’s just something about London…

The Magic of London

This post won’t make sense to a lot of you. Heck, it doesn’t make sense to me either, I’m probably just writing this in my sleep-addled state, high on caffeine and feeling nostalgic for a place I’ve never been to, yet a place I’ve always been wanting to go to.

What’s that word the Welsh have for it?

Hiraeth?

A longing for a home that never was? A home that seems far off and away in the misty distance.

Nostalgia and melancholy for a place I’ve never visited except through the avenue of books and some extremely beautiful movies.

Ah, London, you beautiful, cruel, kind, wondrous, Mistress! How you call to me.

How I yearn to feel your grass and feel your sun on me, with all its warmth in the winter chill.

Is it mere wanderlust that drives me so? Or is it something deeper? A yearning to be at the center of the cultural revolution of the world? Or perhaps just to be in that place where many authors began their magical journey’s long before me, and will continue to do so long after I have passed.

Is it that I think that my Hogwarts Express awaits me there to take me on a magical journey to my own Hogwarts? To a greater, more magnificent, magical, perhaps even mystical future?

Is that it? I know not.

All I know is that I have this terrible yearning for a land I have never been to, a land whose call echoes across the seas to me. A land where books and magic and words come alive, and where the many shades of humanity intermingle to create an everyday drama greater than any penned by Shakespeare, where mystery and adventure abounds everyday, greater than any written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

A land where Sherlock Holmes solves mysteries, where Jack the Ripper creates ripples of fear, where Bartimaeus and Nathaniel unravel the mysteries of magic, where Lockwood and co. deal with dangerous Ghosts and Visitors, and Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort are caught in an eternal war between good and evil.

A land where magic comes alive…

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Nightmarish Nights

So, I was talking to a friend and suddenly in the middle of the chat I ended up writing a short horror story (extremely short story) with her as the main character in it.
This led me to an idea, I could write similar stories about my friends – if they are interested – in different genres, and put it up here on the blog.
So, if any of you are interested and want to have a short story written with you as the central character, comment below and I’ll see if I can spin something it. It makes for some interesting writing exercise, meshing reality with fiction. This is the first story of the lot. More to come soon.

This one’s called ‘Nightmarish Nights.’


Mayuri had popped off to sleep, when suddenly, a tinkling noise woke her up in the middle of the night. She got up to check but noticed that her house was empty as expected. Her parents had gone back to India and her house was silent as always. She shrugged, had a glass of water, and returned to her room.



As soon as she was about to roll up the covers and sleep, she heard the tinkling-

jingling noise again.

But this time it was followed with the sound of someone singing. She proceeded to open the door and turn on the lights, only to see that the house was empty.

Confused, but a little shaken, she went back to her room, turned off the lights and was about to sleep, when she heard the jingling again, but this time a feminine voice was calling out her name.

Softly, like a lone breeze on a cold night she heard the voice whisper, “Mayuri…”

She got up, annoyed, but also scared and turned on the lights. The corridor outside her room and the house was empty as expected.

She shrugged, put it off to an active imagination and went back to her sleep, determined to go to sleep this time.

But she was still a little shaken, so she closed the door to her room and locked it tight, and put the key in the cupboard in her room to avoid the temptation of waking up and investigating non-existent voices

As soon as she closed the cupboard and turned…she saw it…she saw herself lounging on her own bed clad in a white translucent gown staring at herself with red bloodshot eyes, and two knife like fangs dripping blood.

She froze in fear on looking at the doppelganger who was giving her an evil smirk. She then looked at herself and noticed that her own body was fading and her doppelgangers body was getting clearer and coming into focus.

She looked at her legs and noticed that she was wearing payals which were giving off a jingling noise as she faded from existence, while the presence of her doppelganger became clearer and clearer. She let out a blood curdling scream before she began whispering at her doppelganger in a quiet voice, “Mayuri…Mayuri…”

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Entish Ramblings: My 10 Favourite Books

So two friends of mine tagged me on one of those Facebook list-games or whatever they’re called (I’m looking at you, Becca and Miss.P) and my inner writer had quite a task before him to finish the list within an acceptable word limit so as to not scare readers away. Then I decided, screw it , it’s my post, I’ll make it as long as I want it to be and as long as it needs to be. So read on (or not!) at your peril.

This was the post:List 10 books/stories that had an impact on your life. These don’t have to be acclaimed works, just ones that mean something to you personally. You can include series as well. Then tag 5 or more of your friends, including me so I can see your list.



And now onto the list:

1. The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson: 

Wheel of Time Quotes




This series managed to usurp The Lord of the Rings as my all time favourite and held the crown for a long, long time. The best part is the way I delved into the WoT world had a flavour of fate and destiny about it. I found a book titled, ‘The Eye of the World’, quite by chance while I was searching through the dusty shelves of a part-bookstore part–raddiwala near Goregaon station. I picked up the book and liked the look of its cover as well as the summary. It had been a good while since I had read a good book and I picked this one up hoping that it would at least sate some of my thirst and craving for a good fantasy series, and my! how good did it turn out to be! The owner of the shop gave the book to me for a mere 50Rs (that’s barely one US$) and I tumbled into an adventure of Fate, Ta’veren, wool-headed farm boys, Trollocs, Darkfriends and a lot more! The best part is that ‘The Gathering Storm’, which was being written by some person called Brandon Sanderson came out within 2 days of me finishing the series (which was 2 weeks after I purchased The Eye of the World). I had consumed all the books at the speed of a book per day and the only reason it took me 14 days to read the lot of them was because I had to get the money for the next book by doing freelance assignments or odd jobs in the days between. The best part about this series was that it came to me during a point in life wherein things weren’t going well for me at all. And these books helped me plough through that period in time. It gave me an amazing adventure, let me escape into the world of some brilliant characters, introduced me to a bloody flaming amazing group of friends of Facebook and on the Tor Re-read thread and hardened my resolve into diamond to become a writer. All in all, this series was and is gold, and it will always have a special place in my heart and on my bookshelf.

Let the Dragon Ride again on the winds of time!

2. Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson:




“There is no struggle too vast, no odds too overwhelming, for ever should we fail- should we fall- we will know that we have lived.”

I have never ever tried to describe or elucidate upon the Malazan books, ever. This is in part because I have always failed to find the right words which would be capable of depicting the grand  EPIC scale on which events occur, the sheer scope of the series and all that happens in it, the veritable trove of characters whom we encounter, their stories and tragedies and their will to fight beyond them, and in part because I believe I would end up rambling about them. To that end, I was glad that this task was set upon me by my friends (Don’t grin now you two). I had never thought that I would read anything which would be better than the Wheel of Time series. It had become my benchmark by which I would often judge books just to see how short they would be of Mr. Jordan’s concoction. Malazan wrenched and crushed that benchmark under its weight and unparalleled perspective. It broke me down, it rendered me emotionless and dead, unable to feel anything until the very next page would bring life and hope coursing through my veins. It made me hate a character for a 1000 pages just to make me empathize and feel for him in the next 10 pages. It made me detest and hope for a characters death for eight books just to hope that he gets his salvation in the next two. I have ridden with Coltaine and his Wickans with Dhryjna’s apocalypse at their heels, I was there when Kallor committed his heinous act and I thought I would hate him forevermore, until again the author made me sense and realize the innate, ragged humanity within the High King’s eyes. I was there when Icarium ‘remembered’ and when Gothos committed his folly and when the Bridgeburners overwhelmed odds impossible and when the Bonehunters were forged and much more. I have lived with these characters and died countless deaths with them, by their side, in wars, at the hands of an assassin in the dark or through a pike in the stomach or with a carefully aimed strike of the opponents strike because it was necessary for salvation. I have witnessed. This series has broadened my horizon beyond the ordinary and made me ‘think’. It has given me words and quotes to live by and to never fear failure of falling. It is, in my opinion, the greatest work of literature by any author. It may not be as famous as ASOIAF or some other works, there may be books which may get more praise and recognition, but I do not expect to read a series as complete as this, which creates its own perspective. To you I urge, read, and witness.

3. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien:


“Not all who wander are lost”


Every list is incomplete without the mention of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. From the standpoint of fantasy literature it probably holds a position of prominence for being the book which made characters like Dwarves and Elves famous, beginning a revolution which continues till this day. Numerous other authors have adopted these characters and used them in their books but in some way of the other they are always reminiscent of Tolkien and their roots can easily be dragged to the way he envisioned them to be. Lord of the Rings was my gateway to this genre and though I read it while only being in the 8th grade (and losing the librarians precious and only copy of the book), I ended up re-reading it numerous times over the next four years and there was a time when I could recall every moment and event from the story like it had actually happened. The bittersweet ending at the Grey Havens and the final parting of the Fellowship was also the first time I realized that not all stories end in a sunshine and happiness with every character being together in mirth and friendship until the end of time. Lord of the Rings enhanced my imagination, enriched a not-so-boring life and made me dream brighter and grander. It thought me that heroes can reside in everyone of us, no matter however small or lackluster we consider ourselves to be and the value of friendship which is true and pure. Samwise Gamgee, I doff my invisible hat to you.


4. The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher:

I think I was introduced to The Dresden Files by Pooji (Or was it the other way round?) and I was lucky enough to begin reading them at a period of time where everything in life was going at a slow pace which helped me finish off all the books at a trot. Though that probably means a re-read is in order before I read Skin Games when it comes out in the next few months. I lost count at the number of times Harry got beaten to a pulp and treated like thrash or ended up with death’s looming shroud over his shoulders, yet each and every time he managed to even the odds and even come out of the debacle with a win in some form or the other and Thomas’s suffering makes me realize that however bad life is, at least you aren’t being tortured by a Naagloshi Skinwalker (Gotta enjoy these fine points of life). Sacrifice, love and gritty determination are some of the messages I have managed to learn and save from these books. Oh, and not to forget the eternal wisdom of Harry and Bob: having a snarky reply and sarcasm are good ways to deal with whatever life throws at you!


“I did the only thing any reasonable wizard could have done. I turned around and ran like hell.”

 

5. Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling:

There isn’t much left to say about Harry Potter which hasn’t already been said. J.K.Rowling inspired a generation and her words about Harry turned out to be prophetic indeed: ‘Every child in our world will know his name’. My meeting with Harry and the gang was quite weird. I was looking for a good book to read at the library and I saw this book sticking out with a beautiful cover titled, ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’. I picked it up, read a part of it, didn’t understand any of it and gave it up as a bad job. Then, quite randomly, my mother had bought tickets for a movie called, ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone’. I went for it without thinking much and returned wide-eyed, amazed and completely enraptured. That’s when I researched and realized that it’s based on a book series and that The Goblet of Fire was actually the fourth book in it. Knowing this, I had to go and read the books because I’ve always believed that a book is always much much better than the movie can ever be and so began my never-ending love affair with the Harry Potter books and my formal induction as a ‘Potterhead’. The Order of the Phoenix was the first book in any series which I’ve ever had to wait for and that’s when I realized the bittersweet beauty of waiting for the next book in a series. Friendship, bravery, courage and redemption were just some of the many themes which clung to me from these books and I think Hermione was my first ever book-crush ever. Add another star to the series for this! Thank you, Ms. Rowling for such a wonderful adventure – Though I still wish you shouldn’t have killed Sirius and Remus.

“Happiness can be found in the darkest of places, if only one remembers to turn on the light.”

6. The Famous Five (And many more books) by Enid Blyton:

I’ve read a number of Enid Blyton’s books during my childhood and I lapped them up like a cup of steaming hot cocoa on a cold winter’s night. Whenever I think of The Famous Five or any other book by Enid Blyton, I always imagine the joyous, carefree days of childhood and the glorious picnics and the adventures of her characters. To this day, ‘Five go to Demon’s Rocks’ and ‘Five on Finniston Farm’ remain two of my favourite books by her. Her description of the beautiful English countryside, the delectable depiction of food (Hey, I am a foodie! That was one of my favourite parts), camping under the beautiful starlight night over a bed of heather and bracken with Timmy as a sleeping guardian made for an entertaining and splendid childhood filled with adventure and mystery, and I always wished I could join them in some way. Boring and stuffy summer afternoons were replaced by the rolling green and misty English countryside whenever I entered the world of the famous five and other Enid Blyton books.

“A clown needn’t be the same out of the ring as he has to be when he’s in it. If you look at photographs of clowns when they’re just being ordinary men, they’ve got quite sad faces.”

Five go to demon’s rocks!









7. The Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss:

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.”

Patrick’s writing is poetry in motion. I had heard a lot about his first book, ‘The Name of the Wind’, but I didn’t pick it up for a long-long time (I’ve had to curb buying books numerous times because I’ve been low on money: harsh reality). I finally got to read the book when a friend of mine sent me the e-book and though I hated reading e-books on a computer, I had no other option. Luckily, the book was so enthralling that the pages began to fly and I was transported away to the Waystone Inn where Kvothe recited his tale to the Chronicler. In fact, amongst all the writers that I have read until now, I must say that Pat is the best with his words. The fact that he is capable of weaving an enrapturing story with those words makes him a magician, no, a Gleeman! One who can transport you into a world where magic is alive, where adventure and mystery has not been lost and where lives the legend of Kvothe: Lover, Killer, and Innkeeper. Reading this book was a joy. It helps that Pat is a brilliant, brilliant man who does a lot of work for charity through the Worldbuilders and even his blogposts are beautifully worded. A complete writer, if ever there was one. Pat’s writing makes me aspire to become a better writer and is a constant reminder that the way is long but as long as I keep on it, I’ll reach the destination eventually.

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.”



8. The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud:



“One magician demanded I show him an image of the love of his life. I rustled up a mirror”


Stroud’s series begins with a completely different perspective about magicians and the world with them using different kinds of magical entities as bound slaves and punishing them at their whim. Of course this does not mean that the Imps, Djinns, Afrits, Marids and other demons (creatures?) were harmless or good at heart. They were as twisted and corrupt as most of the magician’s who bound them to their will and summoned them to the Earth. Well, Bartimaeus was mostly good but that can be chalked to Ptolemy. What I found refreshing was how there were no outright heroes and how Nathaniel finds himself throughout the series and the way he changes – both positively and negatively – after meeting Bartimaeus. The footnotes beneath the page are genius and always left me short of breath due to laughter while Bartimaeus’s witty commentary and perspective on the world – which has been developed by millennia of being amongst human sorcerers and kings (and even eating up a few gullible ones) is entertaining and makes for a fun and yet thrilling read with all the tasks and hurdles before him. Through Nathaniel, Kitty and Bartimaeus, I learned a lot. About the indomitable human (and Djinn) will, redemption, trust, intellect and the importance of a witty comeback in times of distress. One of the most fun books I’ve read.

9. The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson:



“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”

 

Is Brandon Sanderson the fastest writer out there today? It sure feels that way! Well, good for us, I say, the faster he writes the faster we get to read it! I heard about Brandon Sanderson when The Gathering Storm was being released and I had to read some of his works after that. The man had been selected to complete The Wheel of Time, surely his own books wouldn’t be half bad?! And I wasn’t disappointed. I had picked up Mistborn and Warbreaker and I liked both of them. Especially his unique magic systems and the creatures in the books. Quite innovative. And soon there was news flowing out that he was working on his own ten book epic series called the ‘Stormlight Archive’. After reading the Way of Kings, I was sold. The book had solid world building and some really interesting power creatures as well as another unique power system. Kaladin’s story was heart wrenching and that was the part which sold me and made me realize that yes, this book would be the WoT for our generation. I did find an issue with Brandon’s writing and characters in places where it seemed to be be clunky and oscillated between modern to ancient despite the world not being a modern place at all. However if you’re going to write a 1000 page door-stopper then there’s no use being overly critical. The only way to go is upwards and I look forward to reading more about Kaladin and Bridge four in the next book. And then of course is the series which we’re all waiting for…Dragonsteel and Hoid’s world. The best part is that reading Brandon’s work helps me improve my own writing and makes me realize similar errors which  I make or places which I can embellish and improve upon. Lastly, I need to thank Mr. Sanderson *Doffs hat* for putting his own work aside and completing the Wheel of Time series. It was beautifully done, and even the Creator would have been proud.


10. Percy Jackson And the Olympians and the Heroes of Olympus Series by Rick Riordan:




“Hercules,huh?” Percy frowned. “That guy was like the Starbucks of Ancient Greece. Everywhere you turn–there he is.”




Okay, finally reached the end! How long did it take to write this *Looks around, sees everyone is asleep*. Bah, foolish mortals! Only the brave can be called readers. Only the brave, and only the strong! This is Sparta. Wait what? *Inhales a cup of coffee to get back in working order*

I remember picking the hardcopy of ‘Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief’ at crossword, being impressed by the cover (I know,  know, don’t judge a book by its cover) and summary and ended up plopping on a small squarish box and beginning the book. Before I knew it, I was a hundred and fifty pages into the book and afternoon had turned to evening. I ended up reading the book until the bookstore closed and wishing that the would stay open for an hour longer so that I could finish the book (couldn’t buy it, was short on cash, again.) and so I ended up going home with numerous theories in my head about how the book would end, and thoughts of poor ol’ Percy, losing his mother and getting the cold shoulder from Annabeth for a long time and Grover’s hilarious antics. Finally, I managed to get a fitful sleep and woke up the next day and ran to the bookstore to finish the book. As soon as I was done, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the next one. And thus, I delved and became engrossed into Greek mythology, reading as much of it as I could while waiting for the next book. Percy Jackson helped me enter the world of historical fiction and books like the Emperor Series, The Amulet of Troy, Spartan, etc. I remember when the second book came out, and this time I wasn’t broke (a miracle!) and I ended up buying both, the first book along with the Sea of Monsters. Now, I’ve come a long way with those characters, Percy, Calypso, Annabeth, and Rick’s writing and story telling (which was always engaging and fun) has had a greater depth and emotion to it and as the end draws near, I am again in the familiar territory of waiting for the last book and yet not wanting it to be all over. Like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson has taken up an important part on my bookshelf. No Greek hero has ever had a happy ending in the myths, none except Perseus, and that’s why he was so named by his mother, these words raing in my ears as I awaited the final book and the confrontation with Gaia. I can only hope that the story continues in some form after that book.

Well, I suppose that’s my list of top 10 books. Though I suppose I should have managed to squeeze the Inheritance Cycle in there somewhere. Brom’s words have been really helpful and inspiring for me on numerous occasions: “The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe.” But the last book in the series and the way Galbatorix’s death was handled was a massive letdown for me and so I had to choose Bartimaeus in favour of Eragon.

That’s that. Did anyone make it to the end of this list? I hope the twin demons of laziness and boredom did not strike the reader down before getting to the end…it wasn’t that long, was it? *Sheepish smile*Hopefully it was interesting enough and at least a few of you got to the end!

 

 

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Dream Unfettered

What happens to a dream unfettered?

Does it soar wild and free

Like a Great Dragon from the myths?

Or burn hot like passion -And then bloom?

Does it fade like an old memory?

Or crystallize and harden over -Like a twinkling diamond?

Maybe it just dies

Like many a hope and wish.

Or does it rise unto freedom?

 

Dreams Unfettered

 

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