I’m Baaaack!


Well, it’s been a long, fruitful month off of WordPress. I’m gonna have to do this every December! But this time with scheduled posts. Anyway, prepare for another onslaught of writing. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t had the time to write some more of the Riders, due to school eating me away (hah, Skillet reference), but I’ll get to work on it ASAP. And I’ll have another “series” coming, starting sometime in the next week. 😀

As for reviews and such, I’m going to go over some music albums, and maybe another minecraft server or two. Until then, PLEASE comment stuff for me to check out. Music (with links, please), minecraft servers, I don’t care what else, as long as it’s clean. 🙂


Poetry – Love is…


I’ll occasionally write poems when I get inspired (or I’m feeling really down, whatever), and I’ll post my minor works of art here.

Love is…

Love is hard
Love is beautiful
Love makes you drop your guard

Love is strong
Love is quiet
Love can’t go wrong.

Love is unexplainable
Love is connecting
Love will never be unattainable.

Inspired by Draw Me Close to You (Kutless- Strong Tower)


The Riders, #7


EDIT: Added another paragraph to the end. It didn’t feel completed and cliff-hangery. ;D

Finally! Another chunk of my story is here. I tried to do my best with building the suspense, but I don’t think I did as well as I should have. Anyway, I’ve decided /not/ to do the story in a comic sense, but I think I’ll have it up by next week. Here’s the story!

    Ismira shouldered her small pack as the dwarves and Orik approached. Palodan shifted under the saddle, unaccustomed to it’s feel. Privately, he said to Ismira, I think we have a danger from one of the dwarves. Orik’s mind is shielded well, yet the other dwarves are not as well-protected. I sense treachery in the air. Ismira sent him a comforting thought, although she agreed, somewhat. Even she could feel it, slight though it was. Orik broke her reverie with a hearty “Hello!” She grinned and returned the greeting. “Ready?” Orik spread a map out on the ground. “Here we are,” he said, pointing to a spot near Carvahall. “And we need to get to here.” He moved his finger along the trail they were going to follow to the edge of Alagaesia. “We need to get to Hedarth, where we’ll meet Arya, and then make our way to Eragon’s little encampment.” Ismira nodded. She’d seen some of it when she got to talk to her uncle in the scrying mirror. “When we get to Hedarth, we’ll collect supplies for the second part of the journey.” Ismira nodded again, and clambered up into the saddle.
Orik packed up his map and watched from the ground as Ismira and Palodan took off, circling high overhead. He waved an arm to his men and started marching towards the end of the valley, where they would grab horses and continue on to Hedarth.


The Shade picked himself up off the ground and started after the elf. How can this elf be so calm, when I roam the land? When Eragon stabbed Durza through the heart, killing his first body, the inhuman scream was not just a scream, but a hidden spell that would bind the spirits to the next person to summon any spirits. They found a long lost relative of Carsaib, and inhabited him. Then he wandered through the land, feeding off of whatever he could, staying silent and swift. Then he arrived in Du Weldenvarden, and suddenly things became clearer. He needed a middle man, someone to help him overtake his only true threat and end him. Durza’s suspicions about the elf grew, and so did his ambitions.
Spyro ran through the forest, mind racing, considering his options. He could run to his queen, alert her of the monster that lurked in the forest, or he could fight it himself, and only hope to survive. A third option started forming in his mind, but he tried to ignore it as he ran. Indecision set upon him, and he decided the best option was to wait. He climbed up the nearest tree and waited.
The Shade sniffed the air, tracing the path the elf had taken. To his surprise,  he found the trail ending and going straight up under a tree. His prey was close. To cover his momentary confusion, he circled the tree, and confirmed that the elf was there. He sat down at the base of the tree, shut his eyes, and listened for a sound. “Elf, I know you’re there. I can wait here as long as you can. Come down if you want, I will put up a good fight.” Then he sat back, and waited.


All Characters, names and locations (with the exception of those outside Alagaesia) (c) Christopher Paolini



I’ve been looking through a lot of different webcomics lately, including one here on wordpress (Bo’s cafe life), and I’m considering starting one of my own. It’ll probably be stickmen talking about random things, since I’m not much of an artist, but I’d be able to do one or two a week. Of course, I’d need ideas, and some kind of organizational skill to actually pull it off, but it’s out there.

Now, back to the story… Wait, there’s an idea. Comic-ise my story? Could I actually do that? I’ll put the effort into it, and I might get back to you in a week or three. Meh.




There are a bunch of definitions of “traffic,” but the one I’m going for here is the blog related one.

I’m not complaining here, but I don’t see much traffic aside from the hits from people I know. Compared to OM (who, by the way, has been blogging for a lot longer than I have, and is prone to offensive sprees), I’m a little fly on the wall. Still, I hope that someday I’ll reach a really high hit count per week. My current record is 9 hits in a day. Which is just sad. But it reminds me that I need to write more. So… I’ll go do that. Despite my writer’s block. And lack of good names. And… you know what? I’m done.


PS: OM’s blog is Harsh Reality. (http://wp.me/P323bn-1) Prepare to be offended if you stay for too long.



Well, I’ve gone through many a November without knowing exactly what I could get myself into. Now that I have the chance, I can’t. Sorry guys. I’ll try to keep myself writing, but I can’t do it consistently. But if my word count on The Riders reaches my initial goal of 25,000 words, I’ll be happy enough to strive to do it next year.

Also, note the new theme. It’s relatively new, called Writr, and I like it. It helps showcase my writing, posts, and the occasional picture. Again, comments are appreciated.



The Riders, #6


Wow, it’s been a while. Between lack of inspiration, real life problems, and Clash of Clans, I’ve been away from the writing for far too long. So, let me make it up to you with an extra long portion of the Riders, and a finish to what I consider to be Chapter 1 🙂 Much is revealed… and hidden. And boy, did this take a lot of planning. And a lot longer than I thought.

    Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months as the young dragon grew and grew. Soon he began to communicate with Ismira with actual words, his vocabulary expanding each day. He eventually started flying around, and showed off to Ismira as often as he could. You know, I need to give you a name… He mentally nodded to her, already thinking, secretly, of one himself. Ismira guessed a few, then felt something from him she hadn’t before: Amusement. She smiled to herself, then said, I think you already know what your name is, don’t you? The dragon sent her a mental nod. I do. Would you like to know? Ismira stamped her foot. Of course I do! The dragon chucked to himself. I’ll give you a hint. It’s Palodan. Ismira stopped stamping her foot and stared at her dragon. “Palodan…” she said, trying out the name. “It fits you. Regal purple and ready to save the world.” Palodan gave a small growl, which Ismira interpreted as a purr of affection.

    A few days later, Ismira got called to her parent’s room early in the morning. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as her father explained why she had to go, but refrained from telling her where. When he finished, Roran turned to Katrina, who handed their daughter a pack they had finished filling the night before. “But where am I going? And how will I get there?” Kartina put her hand on Ismira’s shoulder. “You’ll be going to your uncle’s with Orik. He’s the dwarf king, and he needs to go talk to Uncle Eragon. You’ll be safe with him.” Ismira nodded, frightened a little by the prospect of travelling outside Alagaesia, even to see her uncle.

    Towards noon, Albriech came into the village, bringing news of the dwarves’ arrival. Ismira clung to her mother’s skirt, waiting in apprehension as Palodan circled the village, practicing his flying as he waited. A few minutes later, Orik and his band of dwarves – Roran counted no less than 6 in the vanguard – strode into the village. Roran chucked privately as he noted that Ismira seemed no more afraid of these dwarves than she did of her mother. That is, not at all. She’d find out differently later, he mused. He moved forward to greet the dwarves, and motioned for Ismira to come with him. She shuffled forward, intrigued but acting shy, and took her father’s hand. Palodan landed next to Ismira, showing off his still-growing body. His shoulder was level with Ismira’s head, and his wingspan was impressive as well. At the sight of Palodan, all present, except Roran, Ismira and Orik, backed up a few steps. Roran chuckled, and extended a hand to Orik, who then shook it and then looked to Ismira. “You’re a small one for a Rider. Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, though.” Roran raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. “You’ll find Ismira’s more of a handful than you think, Orik. But don’t let that stop you. She’ll get along fine.” Orik nodded, and motioned his guards forward. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Let you all say your goodbyes. And, dragon, it’s been nice to meet you.” Palodan rumbled low in his throat, and Ismira relayed his thanks.
    When the dwarves departed, for the inn, Roran turned to his daughter. “Ismira, you know what you’ll be doing, correct?” Ismira nodded, and clambered up Palodan’s back. Roran remembered something, and told Ismira to wait there. He ran into his house and searched under his bed for the single gift Eragon had sent in case this happened. He returned to Ismira and Palodan with Eragon’s first saddle. Strapping it on as he had seen Eragon do not too long ago, he gave one final gift to his daughter. “I’m going to miss you. Travel well.” Ismira nodded, and Palodan took to the air, giving Ismira her first flight. He circled for a moment then went off towards the rendesvous point to wait for the dwarves.


The Shade settled into the darkness of Du Weldenvarden, waiting for a victim. His heightened senses detected someone coming through the darkness. Silently, he stalked his prey. Spyro heard a simple crack in the silence, and immediately knew something or someone was following him. He vaulted into the trees, and searched the ground for the intruder. As soon as he saw the blazing red hair, three thoughts occured to him. First, what was a Shade doing in the forest? Second, a suspicion as to who the Shade was grew stronger. Finally, unbidden, Spyro considered the posibility of enlisting the Shade’s help to aid his ambitions. Spyo dropped back to the ground, landing lightly on his feet, with no sound, and tapped the Shade’s shoulder, weapon at the ready. The Shade whirled around to see an elf with a sword to his heart. Spyro pushed the weapon closer, and the Shade squirmed. “You look familiar. I know I was only very young when I heard the stories, but I have to be sure.” The Shade nodded, and spoke. His voice, Spyro noted, was like honey, and hard to ignore. “Yes. We are Durza, and we have returned.”


All Names, locations and characters (with the exception of those outside Alagaesia and Ismira’s dragon) (c) Christopher Paolini