Jennifer M. Zeiger's Blog, page 40

Dragon’s Breath Option A: Tell the Truth

Welcome back to the adventure! It’s awesome to see everyone again and get the ball rolling with such a fun adventure. Let’s get back to it!

Dragon’s Breath Option A: Tell the Truth

You’re tired and don’t think you can make something up on the spot. Liam has removed your gag, so you tell him everything from the moment your sister fell ill, but once you get to the part about needing Dragon’s Breath, he jumps up and runs off at top speed without a backward glance.

“Well, that was interesting,” you mutter.

Having nowhere else to go, you follow Liam. You pass many cave entrances, but one in particular strikes you as strange, with glowing orbs of fire hung around the sides and top of the mouth.

So, abandoning your plan to follow Liam, you stop and look in. What you see almost makes you scream again. Thankfully, you have gotten better control of yourself. Five gigantic dragons stand in the room beyond. Three of them look related to Ruby, the blue and green dragon who left with the big white and yellow one. The rest of them look like neither of the others. They’re murmuring too quietly for you to hear them so you creep closer and hear a bit of the conversation.

“We need to attack now while they’re least expecting it,” says the largest one, one of the ones not related to Ruby.

She’s picking her teeth with something that looks disturbingly like a human thigh bone, your stomach lurches as you realize that’s exactly what it is.

“But what if that little one can tell us something, like what kind of weapons they have? And what about the barrier?” argues one of the ones related to Ruby.

With a jolt, you realize they’re talking about invading the mainland. Though you’re not sure what the barrier is.

So do you:

Aa:Find out more?

or

Bb:Sneak away?

Adventure to finish on Tuesday. See you all then =)

Blessings,

Jennifer

 

Dragon’s Breath

Hello everyone! It’s great to be back to the adventure and I can now reveal a surprise that’s been brewing since last fall.

When the school year started, my sister asked me to help with my nieces’ and nephew’s English lessons. She wanted to work on their story telling and teach them such things as protagonist, point of view, setting… you know, all the story telling things that are right up my alley!

And the kids blew me away. They put me to shame! Seriously, I need to up my ante to keep up with them. =)

The fantastic part is…they wrote their very own adventures. Options, multiple endings, the whole speel.

So for the next while, we get to explore the adventures these kid’s imaginations came up with! It’s gonna be awesome!

This first adventure was written by Jael.

Let’s meet her in her own words:

“My name is Jael Rohman. I’m 11 years old, in 7th grade and I have always wanted to write a story. I wrote a poem that was published in Creative Communication. I’ve started writing tons of books but never finished. This is the first time I’ve ever finished a story, and it’s a little long. I love reading and some of my favorites are the Wings of Fire series, the Wish List and so many others. Enjoy the adventure. “

And now on to Dragon’s Breath

“Hey!”

You jolt out of a dreamless sleep, look around and think until you remember where you are. The dripping of water off enormous, vine covered trees reminds you, you’re  in the middle of a rainforest island being kidnapped by dragons. Right. You suddenly remember your dogs who you brought with you but you don’t see them.

“Hey!” the voice repeats.

You try to turn around and realize you’re lying down and your hands are tied in front of you. You look up instead and almost scream. Thank goodness you’re gagged as well as tied up.

Three tremendous dragons stand above you. One is green and blue and looks to be female. The second is brown and gold and definitely male.The final one is a male with scales so yellow they’re almost white, and they hurt to look at.

“Oh good, he’s awake,” says the green and blue female.

“I told you he wasn’t dead,” says the gold and brown one, sounding relieved.

You glance at the last dragon, expecting him to say something, but he just continues to examine you with obvious contempt. Finally, he says, “Liam, take the prisoner to the dungeon, then follow me an’ Ruby to the council room.”

“Yes sir,” replies Liam, the gold and brown dragon.

As the other two leave the room, he walks towards you, gently picks you up and asks, “What are you doing on Dragon Island?”

You can’t decide how much to tell him. You came to the island to find a flower called Dragon’s Breath to heal your sister, Cassandra, from a fatal sickness called Hydra-Bane. Liam seems trustworthy, but you never know with dragons.

So do you:

A: Tell the truth?

or

B: Make something up?

Thanks Jael for the adventure! We’ll continue on Thursday.

Blessings,

Jennifer

Time and 2016

Wow time moves fast anymore! Makes me think, when I’m gray in the hair, that I’ll blink and decades will pass.

Awe well, such is life, right? =)

Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be intentional with right now. In fact, it just reinforces for me the need to be intentional and not let

the things we want to accomplish slip away because time falls through the hourglass.

Looking back on 2015, I accomplished only a few of the things I wanted, particularly in writing. So to start off 2016, I’m going to take January to finish one of my 2015 goals.

That would be finishing the last edit on Dryad and getting it ready to submit. This has been my writing baby for quite some time now and it’s time to get it done!

What that means for the blog? Sadly, that means a short break. But I’ll be back in February with a bit of a surprise. Promise =)

Till then, Happy New Year! And good luck with your own goals =)

Blessings,

Jennifer

Tracker Option Ab1: Speak with the Inquisitor

Welcome to the end of the adventure! Let’s see if you catch the killer.

Tracker Option Ab1: Speak with the Inquisitor?

In the past, the Inquisitor’s shown he puts his duty above personal attachments. He obviously cares for his boy in training, but you doubt he’d put the boy above justice. Plus, you’ve got to trust someone.

“Can I show you something?” you ask him.

The boy and girl try to follow when you move to show him where the girl hid within the trees.

“Just the Inquisitor,” you tell them. “This won’t take long.”

They glance at each other but don’t argue and you lead the Inquisitor away.

“Something doesn’t add up,” you tell the Inquisitor softly. “Can you confirm the existence of this necklace?”

“Saw him working on it over the last week,” the Inquisitor confirms.

“There’s no necklace on her body,” you tell him. “And there are no tracks from the girl heading towards town.” You point out the bush she sat on. “She never left her spot, so she either saw Cora’s death or she did it. Also, I’ve identified all the tracks around the body. There wasn’t another man here last night. It was your boy, Cora and her younger sister. The only others belong to the fisherman.”

“If my boy did this,” the Inquisitor says, “why would the girl cover for him?”

You tilt your head back toward the other two. Since you’ve left them alone together, they’ve struck up a stilted conversation.

The girl’s dark head remains down through most of the conversation but she keeps glancing up through her lashes. At this distance, you can just make out the faint tint of a blush across her cheeks.

“She likes him,” you say.

“Enough to cover for him?” the Inquisitor’s voice for once isn’t monotone. You hear the pain in the words.

But you don’t respond immediately. The girl stuffs her hands in her pockets and fiddles with whatever she’s carrying. It’s a nervous gesture. Something she’s not even aware she’s doing judging by how focused she is on her conversation with the boy.

“What colors were the necklace?” you ask.

“Blue, green, and purple,” the Inquisitor’s watching you, waiting. He seems to have gotten to the point where he trusts your observations.

“She’s not covering for him,” you say and look away from the boy and girl just as she glances toward you. “She’s got the necklace in her pocket.”

You saw it, just for a moment, before she realized she was fiddling with it and pulled her hands from her pockets.

“You’re sure?” the Inquisitor asks.

You simply nod. All the pieces fit except the why. Why would she kill her sister? For the boy, perhaps. She did keep the necklace instead of destroying it.

“What’s the world coming to?” the Inquisitor mutters but it’s a rhetorical question and he walks away before you can answer.

“Miss Straight,” the Inquisitor addresses her for the first time.

She jumps and hugs your cloak tight around her like she can hide within it.

“Yes?”

“Tell me your story again. What happened last night?”

She starts to tell it but instead of letting her tell it uninterrupted, the Inquisitor stops her again and again, asking questions at each small detail. His skill in the questioning unnerves you but you see the purpose in it. Within moments, her story starts to fall apart.

“I started to head home—“

“The tracks don’t support that. You saw the murder,” the Inquisitor interrupts.

“I looked away, I saw nothing, I—“

“Was the necklace on her when you rushed to help?”

“No—“

“Then how did you come by it?”

The boy gasps at this and Miss Straight goes completely silent as her hand sneaks into her pocket. She shakes her head as though to deny his question but then spins to run. Her feet catch in your cloak and she falls.

The Inquisitor moves to tie her up.

“Why?” he asks. “Why did you kill her?”

“She had everything,” the girl mutters with enough venom in her tone that it doesn’t sound like her. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted something pretty. Something small.”

***

After more investigation, you and the Inquisitor find out that Miss Straight has always been a bit unstable, tending to steal things she finds pretty. The Straight family kept her cloistered due to it, but on the night of Cora’s death, her younger sister snuck out to follow her.

All she wanted was the necklace but Cora fought her when she tried to take it. Things went downhill from there.

You develop a professional friendship with the Inquisitor and he calls on you for any case in which your skills might be useful but you rarely speak of that first case. Something about it always haunts you.

The End

Blessings and have a wonderful weekend!

Jennifer

Tracker Option Ab: Reinvestigate the Scene

Tracker Option Ab: Reinvestigate the Scene 

“See the suitors if you want,” you say, “but I’m headed back to the lake. I want to make more sense of the tracks now that I know more of the story.”

The girl, definitely Cora’s younger sister, looks at you with a horrified expression but the Inquisitor simply nods. “Makes sense.” He gestures for you to lead the way.

The fog’s cleared by now, leaving dew on every branch and leaf. The small bits of water sparkle in the weak sunlight. It’d be beautiful if you weren’t searching for a killer but the day’s cold and you can’t keep a shudder from running your spine.

The girl hurries to keep close to you. “He’s kind of scary,” she whispers.

You glance back at the dark man in his Inquisitor clothing. The expression on his face stays bland, almost expressionless, but you catch his eyes and there’s a hint of worry there. Perhaps he’s concerned for his boy.

“He’s just doing his duty,” you reply. “It can’t be an easy job.”

The girl gives you a wide-eyed stare like the concept of the Inquisitor being human never occurred to her.

When you reach the shore of the lake again, you find nothing disturbed. Thankfully, the Inquisitor’s boy hasn’t arrived yet to gather the body. You gesture for the girl and Inquisitor to stand back while you look at the scene again.

So much of it has already been muffled by others walking around the scene that you can’t find where Cora and the Inquisitor’s boy spoke to each other. For all you know, that spot could be directly beneath the body.

It’s easy, however, to locate where the girl knelt to help Cora. Tracing those tracks backwards, you find they come from the same direction as Cora’s prints. That makes sense. She followed her sister from home. You follow them to find where the girl hid to watch the encounter. Just within the tree line you find the spot, clearly outlined by the fact that she sat on a bush to keep from sitting on the damp earth.

You look for her prints when she headed back and then heard the scream. The incoming tracks speak loud and clear. The outgoing tracks—you look carefully to make sure they aren’t mixed with the incoming—but even taking that possibility into account, you don’t see where the girl left her hiding spot to head home. You do see where she rushed toward the lake and Cora though.

You start looking again to make sure you’re not missing something. Before you’re finished, you hear voices back by the lake.

“I was only here for a few minutes,” says a voice you’re not familiar with. You peek out of the trees to see another man with the Inquisitor. Due to his blacks, you know it’s his boy in training. “I wanted to give her the necklace I made.”

Necklace? Although you didn’t look closely at the body, you’re pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a necklace.

The boy jumps when you appear out of the trees. “What necklace?” you ask.

He looks to the Inquisitor before answering.

“Made it out of cord, three strands of different colors. Nothing fancy but I wanted to give her something unique.”

The girl stands behind them with her face down, chin and nose tucked tight into the collar of your cloak that she’s still wearing. Even with her head down, though, you catch the upturn of her eyes. She’s watching the Inquisitor’s boy through her lashes but you can’t quite tell if he fascinates her or scares her.

You return to the body and actually look at Cora this time. No necklace hangs around her neck but you can see where something was drawn tight around her throat.

“Could this necklace have cut her?” you ask.

Tears well in the boy’s eyes. He nods. “I made it sturdy. Wanted it to last awhile.”

The tracks you pointed to earlier as maybe being the killer’s catch your eye. You look at the boy’s feet and, sure enough, he’s wearing soft soled shoes, not the boots he must have worn earlier when he and the Inquisitor came to investigate.

The girl’s story doesn’t fully add up. There are no more tracks, so there wasn’t a second man who came to kill Cora.

A sinking sensation makes your stomach roll.

The Inquisitor asks the boy another question but you don’t focus on it while you’re reexamining the scene. You’re sure of your conclusion, however. The only people who came to see Cora are standing on the shore with you right now, except the fisherman who found her. You disregard his prints though, because they’re clear and the fisherman had no reason to kill Cora. He’s mostly a hermit.

The killer’s right here but who is it? Where’s the necklace? You glance at the others from the corner of your eye. You could pull the Inquisitor aside and tell him but there’s the possibility he’s trying to cover for his boy. If that’s the case, you and the girl could be in danger.

Or it could be the girl. In which case, it’d be advantageous to clue the Inquisitor in so he can catch her in her lie.

Do you…

Ab1: Speak with the Inquisitor?

Or

Ab2: Protect the Girl?

Blessings and see you Thursday,

Jennifer

Tracker Option A: The Witness

Got quite the response to this adventure so far! What fun =)

Now let’s go find ourselves a witness.

Tracker Option A: The Witness

Neither the witness nor the killer will be easy to find but the witness’ tracks are by far the clearer in the sand. Plus, you’d rather not track a killer while the fog’s so thick.

“This should be faster,” you point at the witness’ prints. “We following them now or do you need to do something with her body?”

“My boy’s coming to get the body,” the Inquisitor gestures for you to lead the way up the shore.

“All right,” you move forward at a low crouch until you spot where the witness moved into the trees. The fog still swirls around your feet and the tree trunks but the day’s slowly warming and the gray mist has thinned to the point you can see ten or so feet ahead. The dew from it clings to the branches and wets your hair and shoulders as you move into the foliage.

The Inquisitor’s steps crunch softly on the damp underbrush behind you.

The trail heads deep into the trees where the witness brushed past several thorn bushes. You stop to pull a piece of fabric from one of the thorns.

“Same kind as the bloodied piece we found earlier,” you observe and hand it over to the Inquisitor. “It’s from a pocket,” you explain further, “a decorated pocket. We might be looking for a girl.”

“You tell that from a piece of fabric?” the Inquisitor asks, one brow raised.

“No,” you start moving again as you speak over your shoulder, “the fabric confirmed my suspicion. Length between the knees and the feet when the girl knelt was what clued me in.”

The Inquisitor gives a grunt in response. It’s the most approval you’ve gotten so far from him and you hide your smile as you inspect a tree with a broken branch.

“The dead girl was Cora Straight, wasn’t she?” you ask but keep from looking back so you don’t see the Inquisitor’s  dark frown of disapproval.

Silence. It’s enough of an answer for you, though. You didn’t know Cora well, met her once or twice at a community dance, and you wanted confirmation of her identity. But, despite living away from town, you stay informed about the goings on in the community.

The biggest to do lately was about Cora. She had three suitors and it was becoming an issue because she wouldn’t choose one. Bit of a flirt but a sweet girl as far as you recall.

“Your boy was one of the suitors, wasn’t he?” you ask and this time you do look back to gauge his response. He gives you such a look that you almost look away but then some part of you rebels and you lift your chin and hold his gaze.

He frowns, perhaps confused that you didn’t give in to his dark demeanor.

“Afraid he’s part of this?” you press.

“He was with me last night,” the Inquisitor finally responds, “but that in itself will look like favoritism unless I have more proof it wasn’t him.”

People hate the Inquisitor, fear and hate him. You can see his point. People will take the first possibility to call his judgment into question.

You move forward. You’ve never dealt with the Inquisitor before but now you’re starting to see, he must be a very lonely man. Appointed to this town as law keeper but restrained, by his duty, to not get too close to anyone. Tends to make people hate the law keepers, the rule about remaining aloof.

You hold up your hand for stillness and the soft crunch of the Inquisitor’s steps goes silent. You gesture for him to stay where he’s at and move forward on your own into the small glade you just found.

Small patches of grass are laid over from the girl’s steps but the grass is springy. The girl was here recently.

A faint whimper comes from the far side of the glade. You continue forward and then sit down in the grass beside a young woman. She’s just old enough to wear a woman’s dress but not old enough to be comfortable in it. And she looks like a smaller version of the dead woman.

The Inquisitor’s far enough back that the fog keeps him hidden.

You pull your cloak off and drape it over the girl’s shoulders. Then you simply sit beside her and wait.

“She had a date,” the girl finally says, “with one of her suitors.”

“Which one?” you ask when she doesn’t continue.

She shakes her head. “Cora wouldn’t say but she was so excited I wanted to see who it was, so I followed her to the lake.” The girl cuts off and stifles a sob against her hand.

A twig snaps and she swivels around in fright. She spots the dark shape of the Inquisitor and utters a screech.

You grab her arm before she can bolt.

“Did the suitor look like him?” you ask.

“Yes—no, I mean, kind of,” she shakes her head hard and tears roll down her cheeks. “The suitor had a dark cloak like him but he wasn’t the one that killed her.”

You shoot the Inquisitor a dark look. The only ones allowed the wear black cloaks are the Inquisitors and their trainees, which means the Inquisitor’s boy did see Cora the night before. He lied to you but you refrain from saying anything for now.

“What did the killer look like?” you ask.

“I didn’t see him well. I was leaving to get back home before Cora when I heard her scream. When I got back to the lake I saw a man crouched over her. He was stocky in the shoulders and had a green coat but the hood was up, so I didn’t see his face. I hid until he left and then went to help Cora but—but I couldn’t.” Full, shuddering sobs overtake her and you wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“The other two suitors match her description,” the Inquisitor mutters. “One’s a woodsman, the other’s a smithy.”

“Green coats?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Only one way to find out. Which one do we see first?” he asks.

You’re not sure why he’s asking you. Taking a moment to think on it, you can’t come up with a good reason not to call the two suitors to the Inquisitor instead of him paying them each their own visit. But you kind of want to look over the tracks at the crime scene again now that you’ve heard the witness’ story. Do you…

Aa. Opt to See the Suitors?

Or

Ab. Reinvestigate the Scene?

Blessings,

Jennifer 

Tracker

Fog swirls around your feet in playful eddies. You watch them instead of the back of the man walking in front of you. Even though you’re not looking at him, however, you can’t escape what his presence means.

His knock came at your door less than an hour ago. You live well away from town, anyone visiting in the early hours of the morning isn’t a good sign, but this one’s even worse than usual. Grim faced and clothed in his distinctive blacks, he held out his badge and asked for you to follow him. It wasn’t a question though. You weren’t given a choice. No one refused the Inquisitor.

“Found the body by the lake,” he starts explaining without any preamble. “Someone took a wire to the girl’s neck.”

“Who is it?” you rummage up enough courage to ask.

The Inquisitor glances over his shoulder. The look’s dark, disapproving. “None of your business. All you have to worry about is tracking the culprit.”

You keep your silence although part of tracking is anticipating where somebody’s going to go and seeing if the evidence supports your guess. A-wounded-deer-heads-toward-water kind of thinking.

The sun crests the horizon before you reach the scene. It’s not warm enough, though, to burn off the fog. All it does is make it bright and crisp.

“Over there,” the Inquisitor gestures to where you can just make out the edge of the lake in the fog. It laps gently against the dark rocks of the shore.

You see the crumbled shape of the woman and approach by stepping on larger rocks. You needn’t have been so careful, though. There’s a bevy of footprints around the body.

You keep your eyes averted from her bloodied throat and focus on the ground around her.

“Disturbed the scene rather badly,” you mutter.

“Old fisherman who lives down the lake found her,” the Inquisitor replies. He comes to crouch beside you. “These prints,” he points out a smooth, narrow set of prints. “Are his and these,” he points to heeled boot prints, “are mine.”

You glance at his feet.

“Let me see the soles.”

He scowls but you hold out your hand like you’re asking him to hand something over.

“Tracking’s my job,” you insist and keep your hand out.

He grumbles but lifts up one foot so you can see the tread on the bottom of his boot. You examine them and move on.

“These are her’s,” you trace in the air a smaller impression. The woman walked more on the balls of her feet than her heels, which left little but the toe print of her slippers. “You have anyone else out here?” you ask.

“My boy,” the Inquisitor answers, “he’s in training.”

“Boots like yours?”

“Just smaller,” he nods.

You move around the body, disregarding the prints you know until you find some you don’t. “Odd,” you mutter under your breath.

“What?”

You jump and only then realize you spoke out loud.

“The fisherman may not have been the first to find her,” you point to two round spots in the sand beside her body. “Someone knelt here and tried to stem the flow of blood from her throat. When it didn’t work, they pitched the rag they used.”

“How do you know that?”

You point to some willows by the shore. “They threw the rag into the water. The water brought it back.”

A bright red cloth tangles in the long stalks of the willows. The Inquisitor moves to retrieve it and you welcome the two seconds when he’s not watching you.

“Whoever tried to stem the blood may have witnessed the murder,” you say, “those tracks are pretty clear heading that way.” You indicate a trail headed toward the fisherman’s house down the lake. “These tracks might be the killer,” you point to another indentation but it’s faint, smudged by others and lacking much to make them distinctive. Leather shoes maybe, you guess, because there’s no hard sole to the indentation. “They’re going to be difficult to follow. Which do you want first? The Witness or the Killer?”

The Inquisitor drops the bloodied rag into a leather sack and doesn’t look up.

“You decide,” he says, “who do you think you can find faster?”

A. The Witness?

Or

B. The Killer

Blessings and see you Thursday =)

Jennifer

The Tournament Option Aa1: Shoot for the Eyes

 

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the United States! Hope this day if one of new memories and laughter.

Now for the ending to the adventure =)

The Tournament Option Aa1: Shoot for the Eyes

No matter where the troll goes, the eyes are the way to kill it. The skin and fur over the heart tends to thicken the area so much that the troll has to be within about 100 yards before an arrow will penetrate enough to stop it. Anything before that will only anger it more than it already is.

“Shoot for the eyes!” you shout.

The other archer frowns, glances at the troll loping toward the rabbit cages, and then nods his agreement as he turns and pulls an arrow. He holds it loosely against the string of his bow while he waits for the troll to come within range.

By running on hands and feet, its head lolls up and down with each stride. The eyes come up as the troll’s torso rises. It looks side to side and then the eyes disappear as its head falls into another stride.

300 yards and it veers sharply to your left, straight toward the rabbit cages.

You and the other archer raise your bows at the same time. The snap of your strings is lost in the crunch of the first rabbit cage. The troll didn’t even stop but stepped on the cage and caught the only rabbit that didn’t get squished.

It stops long enough to eat the rabbit in two bites, which timing wise, means your arrows bounce off the top of its head.

You and the other archer grunt in unison and the troll’s head swings up. It swipes at the top of its skull but the arrows bounced off and there’s nothing to swipe away.

Almost as though it’s shrugging, the troll hops to the next cage and breaks it open.

Your second set of arrows glance off its lowered skull and sink into its shoulder. The beast bellows and breaks the arrows off with a swipe of its arm.

This time the troll doesn’t go back to eating rabbits, it takes a moment to look around and spots you.

With a roar, it pitches the next cage into the air. It hits the ground not five feet in front of you and explodes into shards of wood. Several pieces fly into your leg.

The troll chortles as you stumble and it throws one of the hay bales next. You dodge to the right and raise the bow before the troll can pitch something else.

The arrow glances off the side of the beast’s head and takes a chunk out of its ear. Blood draws a bright line down the head until it hits its shoulder. This doesn’t seem to phase the beast. The troll hauls back and lobs a log into the air.

You pull the bow and aim as the troll rocks forward with its throw. There’s a twang from the other bowman’s string at the exact same time as you release your own arrow.

The log thuds into the ground between you and the other archer but you’re not watching it. You’re watching the troll. Arrows blossom from its eyes. It stumbles, thuds to its knees and then falls face forward.

The arena’s silent for only a second before erupting into deafening cheers.

You and the other archer meet eyes. You’re tied. What happens now?

You don’t get to ask though, as you’re led into part of the coliseum where a surgeon pulls several chunks of wood out of your left leg.

While you’re being seen, you miss the Difficulty challenge. Considering the troll ate half the challenge, you’re not sure what they came up with to replace the rabbits.

Finally, you’re led back into the arena and are brought before the raised platform of the King.

You’ve never been this close to him before. He’s older with deep lines running from the corners of his eyes.

“The other two contestants have been disqualified for fighting with each other,” the announcer tells the crowd. “So here before us we have—“

The King stands and the announcer falls silent.

You bow to the older man as he walks to the edge of the platform.

“Never have I seen such bravery in an archery challenge,” he says to you and the other archer. “I will not take away from such heroism by trying to come up with a tiebreaker challenge. I don’t believe there is such a challenge. So what would you each have as an award for winning this day?”

You hesitate, shocked by his offer.

“My brother, Sire,” you finally say, “has been told to work the quarry for a debt. May I have his release?”

The King stands a bit taller and looks you directly in the eye. “You can ask for anything and this is what you ask? Are you sure?”

Something in his tone makes you hesitate again. Did you ask for too much? Not enough? You can ask for anything.

“His freedom and a year’s worth for the bakery he owes on, if it pleases you, Sire,” you say with a bow, hoping you read his intention correctly.

He beams. “Fair.” And he goes on to ask the other man what he’d like as an award.

You leave after seeing Ruben’s released. Your family doesn’t acknowledge what you accomplished but you’re not really concerned. You’ve lived for quite some time without their input.

Later, the other archer finds you in the woods. He hunkers down beside your fire and offers you a piece of his bread he brought for his dinner.

After a while of silence, he finally addresses why he tracked you down.

“I’d like to train you,” he offers. “To replace me as the King’s archer.”

You were right. He is the King’s archer. You hesitate only for a moment before agreeing.

The End

Well done on this Adventure!

The Tournament Option Aa: Distance

The Tournament Option Aa. Distance

The announcer continues to point at you while his shouted question fades with the general roar of the crowd. The longbow rests against your shoulder.

“Distance,” you respond just loud enough for him to hear.

“Distance,” the announcer repeats so the entire crowd can hear and then he points to the next man.

Your palms sweat as the adrenaline from the first challenge slowly fades. You vaguely hear the other three contestant’s choices. Only one chooses distance with you.

You meet the man’s gaze and give him a nod. He holds his own longbow at his side in a loose grip. He tilts his chin in acknowledgement but his eyes stay cold like he feels none of the tension from the challenge. On his jacket sleeves is sown the crimson arrow of the King’s personal guard. This man may very well be the King’s own sniper.

Your palms sweat even more. It he’s who you suspect, he’s well known for his ability with a bow.

“Next round starts in ten minutes!” The announcer hollers.

You’ve nothing to do in that ten minutes. To pass the time, you pull out a piece of jerky and gnaw on it while you wait. As the salty, savory flavor fills your mouth, your stomach growls. You didn’t eat breakfast because of your nerves that morning but now you’re stomach’s telling you about it.

The other archer stands in place as well. He stretches his shoulders and flexes his fingers and then he picks up his bow and walks over to join you.

You reach in your pocket and hold out another piece of jerky to him. Without a word, he takes it, nods his thanks and starts gnawing on it.

In unison, you both turn back toward the archery field and watch as people hurry about to set up the next challenge.

Closer to you they haul out several cages with small, furry creatures inside. The creatures skitter about like they’re chasing each other. You squint and then grunt when you realize you’re watching training rabbits. They’re raised to never stop moving. You recognize them from your own archery training in which you had to shoot five of them before progressing to the next stage of training.

Along with the cages, they bring out boxes, hay bales and logs, all things the rabbits can hide behind or skitter over. This must be part of the difficulty challenge.

You dismiss those preparations and scan farther afield for the distance challenge.

A box wagon pulls up near the wall of the coliseum. When it stops, the wagon continues to rock side to side.

“Something big,” the other archer comments.

You grunt agreement. Whatever they have in the box has to be big enough to throw the weight of the wagon.

The wagon jolts and rocks onto two wheels before thudding back into place.

“Something real big,” you agree, and wipe your palms on your pants.

A snorting growl comes from the wagon, loud enough for you to hear over 400 yards away with the crowd.

“You’ve shot a bear or two in your time, haven’t you, Ranger?” the man chuckles.

A surprised laugh comes from your throat. “Sure have,” you respond, “but that’s not a bear.”

This time when he glances at you, there’s a spark in his eyes, maybe surprise, maybe excitement. You’re not sure. Then he raises a brow in question.

“Troll,” you answer. From the snorting growl, you guess it’s a snow troll. Just a few weeks ago you had to track one and kill it because it kept wandering into a small village up north. Nasty beast that tried to throw a broken tree at you before you shot it through the eye.

You glance at the rabbits. Whoever made up this tournament must not know what they’re dealing with.

As you’ve been talking, those preparing the arena have installed tall fences along the archery wedge to contain the troll. They’re heavy fences with lots of iron, probably enough to keep the troll in check, but the rabbits and obstacles for the difficulty challenge are still within the confines of the fences. Snacks and ammunition. That’s how the troll will view such things.

“What?” the other archer asks.

The announcer steps into the center of the wedge and starts shouting before you can respond.

“For Distance, our two contestants must put down the beast. Whoever shoots the killing shot wins. The farther out the kill shot, the more points you get against those competing in the Difficulty challenge.”

He steps back and the crowd roars, drowning out your shouted warning to the other archer.

They release the latch on the wagon and the troll throws the door free. It scans its surroundings as it stretches long, white-furred arms. It’s a good 450 yards out but it spots you and the rabbits in no time. A husky, delighted chortle huffs out of its throat as it slumps down onto hands and feet and starts running your way in a loping gallop.

It’ll be in range in no time.

Before taking aim, do you shout to the other man…

Aa1. “Shoot for the eyes.” ?

Or

Aa2: “It’ll go for the rabbits first.” ?

Blessings and see you Thursday for the end of the adventure,

Jennifer

The Tournament Option A: Archery

Archery was definitely the winner this time! So here we go. Let’s see what happens =)

The Tournament Option A: Archery

The rain subsided with the morning sun and now you’re standing in line to register for the tournaments with the sun warming your shoulders. It burned off the mist within an hour and your cloak’s almost dry as you approach the table at the entrance to the coliseum.

The man behind the table holds his pen over a sheet of paper. He waits for you to say which challenge you want to participate in.

“Archery,” you inform him.

He grunts and accepts the papers you hold out containing your information. They tell him everything from your name to where you were born and to which family.

“Isn’t this a baking family?” he asks, pointing at your last name.

“Mostly,” you reply, perhaps a bit shortly but you’ve been questioned like that your whole life.

He eyes you and your weaponry and then shrugs and hands your papers back.

“The archery field’s to the left,” he says, “first tournament starts in an hour.”

You thank him and move on.

The coliseum’s huge, made to support gaming events and trials but today, instead of hosting a single event, the ground is split into five wedges like a pie. Spectators mill around the seating above, able to see all five areas.

On the ground, however, you can only see the wedge you’re standing in and the two neighboring wedges.

Archery is immediately to your left. On either side sit the hand-to-hand combat arena and the fencing grounds. You guess jousting is on the other side of the coliseum because you can make out the heads of several horses in that direction.

The fifth wedge you can’t guess at. All you can see in that area is a crowd milling about.

You approach the table at the edge of the archery field and hold out your papers to the man standing behind it. He waves the papers away and simply points to a spot on the ground.

“Stand there and wait,” he grumbles.

Where he pointed is a spot in the middle of the wedge but closer to the narrow side of the pie. You move to it and nod at the man beside you. He’s standing in place as well and behind him stands five others, all holding bows. These are your competition.

The man sneers but the look vanishes as you pull your bow from your back, step through and into it, and string the long bow in one fluid motion. This is your comfort zone. As a woods ranger, you’re not only required to hunt and keep the forests clear of dangerous animals, but you’re required to train for long shots in case of war. You’re the snipers of the kingdom, as it were. A little known fact, but you don’t explain this to the man.

Instead, you pull your cloak off, slide your arrows back over your shoulder and pull on the bow a little to feel the draw. You nod at the man again and then turn to face the field where several targets are placed.

The first one’s close, about 100 yards out. If you’re not careful, you’ll put an arrow all the way through the target at that range. The second target’s another 50 yards or so and the third doubles the first. A 200 yard shot. Now that’s where your bow will give you the advantage.

This first round must be designed to weed out the amateurs. You jump up and down while waiting to warm your body.

Finally, the man from the table walks out onto the field and raises his hands for attention.

The archery wedge goes silent.

“First round,” he shouts in a voice that bellows through the coliseum, “three targets each. Hit the bull’s eye on the targets. Top four contestants will proceed to the next round. We start with the archer on that end.” He points to the man on your left and then leaves the field.

Once he’s clear, he gives a nod to the first archer and the man takes aim. His three arrows hit within an inch of the bulls eyes in rapid succession.

Your turn. After pulling out an arrow, you hold it loosely against the string. Then you eye the first target and wait for everything around you to fade. Nerves make your hands sweat. You wipe them on your pants without looking away from the target.

Your ears ring with silence. Your peripheral vision becomes nothing but gray. The muscles in your back tighten and the bow comes up in one move.

Then the arrow’s away and you’re pulling the second before the first hits its mark.

By the time you release the third arrow, the dull thud of the first has already sounded and the second follows immediately after.

You know as soon as you release the first that it was off but when you look back, it sits right beside the arrow of the man who shot first. Your other two are dead center of the targets.

You find yourself almost holding your breath as the others go, hoping your initial mistake doesn’t ruin your shot at the top four archers.

The last man shoots and you breathe out in a heavy sigh. You made it to the next round.

The announcer points to you and the other three who made it. You all step forward.

He points at you again.

“Distance or Difficulty?” He shouts. The question bounces around while you take a second.

Do you answer…

Aa. Distance?

Or

Ab. Difficulty?

Blessings and see you Tuesday =)

Jennifer