25 July 2010

Tsiyone Karmiti Character Background part1

Title: The Introduction
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Character Background Story
Word Count: 1182

There seems to be an unwritten law governing the state of the human creatures that allows for other two- legged, two- armed, one-headed, tailless organisms of their planet to walk more freely than other creatures. And it seems that the verdant, static life forms previously so abundant on the planet are degraded as all but nonliving; it is pointless to further express the treatment of said static objects, of those with or without luster. 
The Natives of the forest have a life that is almost directly against this way of life. We live as peaceably as we can bear with the nature around us, with the innate life of the planet. We do not claim to be more “advanced” in any aspect of the human lifestyle except in the area of morality—generally—by the planet’s definition. Yet that is not to say we are completely without their “modern technology”. We have our own methods of technology, ones deemed more “one” with the environment. 
And it is not to say we loathe the non-natives that have come to populate the land. We are careful to keep our relations at a friendly minimum, extending a heart equal to that which is extended to us. 
Of course, I speak only with the experience known to the tribe of Karmiti, and with information only known to the chief’s daughter.
The first chief of Karmiti was known as Adoeete (ah-do-EE-tay), Big Tree. It is said that his devotion to the land—particularly the trees—was so great that he was born when two rivaling trees entwined roots and created him from the overlapping area; when he was killed, he returned to the land as a great tree. But his teachings were much like the ones of times before, with a slight change to accommodate the farming people of the tribe. 
His great-grandson, Adahy (ah-da-HAY), Timber, later became chief and wed Kemete (key-MEH-teh), Secret. I—Tsiyone (tsi-YO-ne)— am the product of that marriage. I will not however, be the next chief; our chiefs are selected by the presiding chief, along with a few of the elders, when the child is very young. The child, of course, must also consent to this role before it is official.

I am, and always will be, Tazanna, daughter of the chief. I hold no special rank or authority, and no distinction but the title is made. It is no great loss; I prefer to be simply Tsiyone Karmiti, Flying Trees, and not someone that must lead a tribe. I was born this way, and am consent with always being this. My role is to guide the little saplings in our ways, that they might learn the values of the earth and the power of the ancient language.  
Enough with the dull history. My story begins with the attack of the Nochime (no-shim) tribe on the Karmiti tribe. It was my ninth winter on the land, and I remember I was taking a break from sewing spare moccasins for the men and practicing archery when a cry went up from one of the residents on the perimeter of the camp. It was a late notice, since no one was on the farmlands. A messenger had run from an outlying tent through the familiar forest path to the main camp and reported that hostiles were approaching. Already there were two dead. 
Father gathered the warriors immediately and the non-fighters quickly took down the hangings in the paths in camp to clear the way and to protect their goods. I, along with a few of my wihe—sisters—were expected to keep guard of the camp as the others greeted the hostiles. 
We waited in calm trepidation, and occasionally a fearful mother muttered a prayer, which would be followed by the unanimous “Deus Ioyna” that is, “Deus has mercy.” 
The pahan—non-native born—of the tribe were few—Nem Suis had not joined us yet—and most knew their task; my friend and wihe Evangeline stood by me, her chubby fingers resting on a small set of dark colored stones that I knew were laced with her witchcraft and would do anything from explode to send confusion through those unfamiliar to her—given the alternative, and the proximity of the nearby tents, I silently hoped she would employ the latter. 
In our language, Nochime means “heartless”. The first leader had named his tribe such because they were a band of outcasts from either native or non-native society and had sworn revenge on the individuals who had banished them. Conflict arose though, when children appeared. Some suggested making pacts with peaceful tribes and leaving the children with them, but some feared that the children would be mistreated, as the adults had been. Some wanted to keep their children and raise them as part of the band. Some killed the babies when they were young. Some sold them as slaves to the non-natives. Some waited until the child could work before selling it—they were an “it” to the members of the Nochime—for more money.
This last one was the case of Eluan (EH-lu-an) Nochime.
We waited, and finally heard fighting in the distance. This was soon replaced by loud quarreling with soon faded to quiet mumbling. At the time I had not yet advanced my connection to the trees so much as to be able to hear through them and thus did not hear the entire conversation, only snippets of it: “friend…winter…food…pahan…temp--…shila…ahia…”
I stopped listening to the conversation when I picked up footsteps running towards us from a different direction. Telling Evangeline to keep order, I darted towards the sound of these step to meet the newcomer. 
When the person got closer, I drew my bow and readied to shoot. Instead, a boy around my age rushed towards me, brandishing a long dagger. He balked when he saw my arrow pointed at his heart and collapsed. “Wihe, extrsazan okie neigah; Lepaz eun iem!*” His accent in the ancient language was harsh, and it was plain he did not learn it from his own people—the Nochime were not known for their dedication to the ancient customs and language. 
But nevertheless he had spoken in the ancient language and could not lie. “Lepaz, shila.**” I said—he was no brother of mine, but he had called me a sister and I did not wish to be disrespectful— and lowered my weapon. In Common, I asked, “You are of the Nochime clan, are you not? Are you lost?”
“No, I ran away. Don’t let them find me! ”
Lepaz, shila.** Peace, peace. Where will you go?”
“Anywhere,” he said, “Anywhere.”
I thought hard for a moment. Father would not approve of what I was about to do—maybe no one would—but I could not kill him now, and to abandon him would be worse. 
"What is your name, shila iem?"

*Sister, do not attack me; I come in peace!
**Peace, brother.

Artist's Note: Hi! I haven't been online for a long while because my computer fried for a few days . I've got everything to work except Microsoft Office now though; and I just figured out a way to use TextEdit to write :) (Take that Microsoft! You just got pwned!)

And...this is part one of Tsiyone's background...which isn't going to be about her that much :/

In all honesty I think I'll try to finish this background story series (as in the entire thing) asap so I can try writing...actual stories. Background stories are betatesters! >.<

Please read and review! Thank you in advance! <3 :D

P.S. Final Fantasy XIII is awesome. <3

13 July 2010

Plans of Escape

Title: Plans of Escape
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Randomness/ Continuation/To-be-continued story
Word Count: 817
This starts at the end of the encounter described in "The Overdue Check": Adrian, one of Mariah's old boyfriends, has just settled scores with her and left. Mariah is watching him leave from her bedroom window.

I guess I'm free then, Mariah thought, taming her hair into braids. No more of them. She finished packing her duffel bag with clothes and other necessities. Finally, she opened a antique jewel case that was secured behind the mirror.

Grandfather's zeinband. The one Mother rejected. She turned to a photo of her long-gone grandparents on the dresser. Don't worry, Grandpapa...I won't disappoint you the way Mother did. I'll restore the family honor...

Mariah took a long at the dull colored stones connect by a band in their centers--like a hair band with flat, round ornaments--and examined the curved symbols in the centers. Sye-niar. I still remember your prowess in the stadium...I still remember the way Grandfather launched you two little ones into the battle and dominated the court, every single match. I still remember. And I'm going to bring you back to your former glory. 

She left them in the rosewood case, put this case back into the secret vault behind the mirror and turned towards the heavily curtained corner she had been sitting in for too long. Books were piled all over the room, covered by hastily made book covers. Mariah sighed and began neatly stacking the books and straightening the book covers that boasted titles such as "Modern Fashion," "The Housewife's Guidebook to Survival" and "101 Things You Need to Know About Marriage," only to be interrupted by a loud woman calling her name and bursting through her door.

"Mariah!" Her mother repeated, exasperatedly. "I saw that young man walk out just now, you know. You rejected him too, I bet."

"Mother, I'm 19. I don't want to get married."

"But you must! Or soon there will be no one good left!"

“Need I marry?”

Her mother broke into a rage and fished out a remote from the pocket of her large dress. She spun a dial and hit a button. Long snakelike wires that were connected to a ceiling socket in the hidden corner slunk out and chased her down, the inconspicuous tethers on her feet keeping her from moving in this situation. The first few tendrils secured around her waist, wrists and knees and the remaining sludge dumped themselves around her, draping over her back and coiled down her arms and legs. A few even slunk down the two loose braids.

“Mother!” she cried, the wires obviously uncomfortable.

“You disobeyed me. You read all these books, but you have no intention of ever marrying. Why do you do this to me?” He mother spun the dial again and hit a button. A light shock trickled through the wires, making her twitch painfully. The thirty-some year old woman continued, “You know I am getting old. We need to find you a suitable husband as soon as possible. Then you can conceive for me a grandchild. Do you hear me?”

She turned the voltage up a notch and hit the button again. “Do you understand me, Mariah? You must marry. Or if you do not, you must produce a child. Otherwise your existence is meaningless. I do not care if you like anyone or not. It is not that hard to get pregnant.”

She hit the button again and Mariah cringed, biting back a scream. “You are useless! Pointless! Stupid! Disgrace” She jabbed the button with each exclamation and finally stormed out.

Still entangled in the electrocuting wires, Mariah crept to the corner and worked her way slowly and painfully up the wall, using the windowsill and pile of books as props. Finally, with much difficulty, she hit the high, hidden  switch that retracted the wires. As they slunk back into their socket, messing up and tearing off bits of hair and skin.

She crashed on the floor and knocked over a stack of books. A few of the book covers tore or fell off and revealed the true books underneath: “History of Zeinbanding,” “The Beginning Zeinbander’s Guide” and “Zeinband Maintinence”.

I have to get away, she thought, stowing the duffel in a hidden location and crawling into the adjoining bathroom. Vision still clearing from spots, she turned on the water in the bathtub and found her secret bottle of healing lotion. She poured a small quantity into the water and started to put it away but stopped. Instead she crawled back into her room and stored this bottle, as well as a few others like it, into the duffel. She finally returned to the bathroom and relaxed in the water, letting the healing lotion take effect, scheming how to escape.

Father would help me, wouldn’t he? He did save Atesia from being sold…

When the water had cooled and Mariah felt considerably refreshed, she climbed out the tub and dressed quickly. She would need a good excuse for her mother to grant her audience with her father. Staring out the window at the city below, and thought of an idea.

Artist's Note: Hi...Yea, this was totally random because I was sick of writing character background stories. Sorry for the late update.

Terms to define in case they were confusing:
~Zeinbanding is a sport involving hair-band like objects. Mariah's grandfather's zeinband parts were called Sye and Niar, so collectively the tool is called Sye-niar.
~Atesia is Mariah's horse.

This is not supposed to be considered a character background story because it's not her entire life thus far, only a small segment. And it starts when she's 19 anyways :P 

Yea. Totally random, I don't know if I'm actually continuing it... and since I'm having trouble with Tsiyone's part right now, I don't know when the next normal character background thread will continue...and because I have SAT/ College Essay stuff to deal with too :( :( 

EDIT: I added a bit of expository information at the beginning. Yea, she kinda is a prisoner >_< @ Minsat-- :D <3

05 July 2010

Vera Suis Background part 6.

Title: Return to the Past
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Character Backround Story
Word Count: 1815 (

I froze. Damn obedience curse! I thought, irritated again. With irritation, I glanced backwards, without taking my eyes off the escapee.

“Are you so clouded as to not see who she is?” the voice of Jane Exina chided again. “Can you not recognize your friend?”

“Who’s side are you on?” I retorted, but caught myself from any insults, remembering our respective ranks. I may have been a Guardian, but Jane had also risen in rank, and was now known as a Shadow. She had power beyond that of most in the Cordelian heiarchy, and had only to report to the King himself.

“Do you not recognize your old friend?” she repeated.

“I have no friends.”

Jane moved around so she was standing between the escapee and me. “You used to,” she murmured. “Have you forgotten?”

Her cold tone had returned and I felt her presence slip out of my mind. “You have not forgotten.” She walked to the escapee and set her clock on the shivering lady’s shoulders before moving aside and I stared at the escapee more carefully.

We had been separated for a decade, and were hardly recognizable. But at Jane’s prodding, I recognized a few familiar features—that, and there were not many people in my past that were of much significance. And at that moment, I almost wished that reunions were as simple and easy as a “It’s been too long,” or “Don’t you remember?”

I felt Jane Exina’s hand touch my shoulder and send a wave of calm though me. The rock-hands vanished, and I mellowed a little. Still, no words were exchanged. Finally, Jane broke the silence, voicing my thoughts. “What do you do now?”

Akeisa pleaded with me silently, holding the baby as if it were the only thing that mattered. But I knew that failure would not be accepted. I had my own life to worry about, and I was expected to be recruited when the Lord of the land came to find a guardian to the land’s Shade team.

“Let her go,” someone said, but it was not Jane this time. “And I’ll be the next Shade.”

Bus Kandler—predictably, I supposed. A passing Shade had pitied his statue and brought him out of it—he quickly proved his worth in repaying the debt. “Go ahead. Save your—friend,” he spat the last word, and laughed.

“You are not to speak that way to a superior,” Jane admonished, testing him. He had yet to know of her new rank, and obviously could not tell by her cloak, as it had been given to Akeisa momentarily. Yet if he had any memory he would remember that she was the one that had permitted the Shade that had saved him to save him, put two and two together, and see that we were not acting.

He failed that test. “She is no superior,” he laughed, and attacked, uprooting trees and other debris of the forest to launch at me. With unsurpassable speed, I retaliated, merging the flying matter into a single entity and shooting it back at him. They bounced off him and did as much impact as a grain of sand does an ocean.

“Shadevow,” he said smugly, pointing at the dull gray jewel on a brooch. “You can’t hurt me.”

Through this encounter, Akeisa had slipped further from us, but now paused. She, as well as Jane, seemed to know that the next move depended on me.

My childhood resurfaced for a brief moment, flashing images of my triumphs and failures first as a Revelin, then as a Cordelian. Now that I had a choice, where would I stand?

My next words came from the Guardian-trained side of my brain; in a near monotone, I said, “Master Shadow?”

Bus looked around wildly searching for a Shadow. Akeisa had left the cloak hanging inconspicuously in a branch, and peered at us, looking for a way to escape. “Certainly,” replied Jane.

Incredulity plainly crossed Bus’s face and he smirked. “Nice try,” he muttered, and resumed the attack.

I dodged his attacks, manipulating the projectiles only when necessary to protect Akeisa. No one noticed Jane, who seemed to have vanished. Projectiles and blasts of pure psychic energy flew at me, colliding mercilessly with the environment. Finally, I tired of this game and –Shadevow or no—returned the onslaught.

Without fear, I threw my entire entity into a great tree that had been slashed in the battle; my body crumpled behind me, protected by a boulder. Inside the tree, I at first pushed, like Souls were trained to do, then decided to abandon those lessons and instead just asked to share the space for awhile. It relented hesitatingly, and I felt control of the massive being flood into my control. It was not like standing with my feet glued together and my arms stuck out stupidly; it was just being. The roots did not feel like feet—they were roots, not feet; the branches were branches, and each twig a separate being. I had given it a temporary nervous system, but it was still itself and did not mold itself to any animal shape. I was a tree. I was not a person inside the tree; I was a tree.

I lunged a branch forward using the whisperings of the wind to find him, and propelled a few roots around him, caging the fellow without harming him.

“You can’t hurt me!” he proclaimed again, doing nothing but confirming his location. Magic coursed though my vascular tissue and secondary growth of the plant ensured, making branches sprouting leaves curl around the guy, securing him tightly in a complex web.

I thanked the tree for sharing, and asked it to maintain the position before slipping away and reclaiming my own body.

“You still can’t hurt me,” Bus laughed, spitting out a mouthful of leaves. “You can trap, but not harm.”

I was about to speak, but Jane appeared above him, sitting calmly on a branch. “Arrogant much?” She peered at him and then leapt down, instantly at my side. “Your call,” she muttered pointlessly.

I had made my choice. I would not return with Akeisa to the Revelin—in any case she had escaped in the midst of the battle—but neither would I return with Bus to the Cordelian Empire. I glanced at Jane, knowing she was reading my intentions as I formulated them.

“Why?” I asked, taking the cloak I wore off. She swung it over an arm and said, “As a Shadow, I have privileges; among them, the right to pursue personal interests. This particular one is called, ‘the better path of an individual,’.

“Veraline,” she said, smiling interestedly. “I can’t make you braid your hair, but I can call you as much, can’t I?”

Vera—now Veraline again—smiled and hugged Jane Exina one last time before turning and leaping off into the woods, calling out to the forest for directions.
--- Fin---

Tsiyone Karmiti, fourteen years of age and the daughter of the chief, looked up from her work for a rare moment. The boy sitting on her right stopped as well, setting aside the basket he was helping her weave and stared at her. “What is it, Tazanna Tsiyone?”

“The trees are telling me…” she paused. “Shila Tasuke—oh, banish the thought—Wihe Evangeline! Please go find Pahan Nemonni and tell him to stand at the southeast border. The trees tell me someone is searching for him.

Tasuke grimaced as Evangeline, purple haired and pale skinned, darted off, fast despite her seemingly plump figure, before returning to work on his basket. He was an oddity, a child with no feeling in his legs. But the tribe was good, and did not see this as a drawback or a shame. He was to work with the women then, and work as they did. His arms were not damaged, and his brain was keen; he would work what he could with his conditions.

Within a few minutes, Evangeline returned with a man that stood out among the others: his skin was not quite as tanned as theirs, and his hair was a strange orange color; but the tribes people did not see him as a bad person, and he did not feel his awkwardness; these people were his closest family, and he knew their ways as well as any adult of the tribe. “Tazanna, he said, placing his left palm around his right fist in the native’s way of bowing, “My daughter told me I am expected at the south-east border? Am I looking for someone particular?”

“I know not, Pahan Nemonni. I was merely told that someone who can apparently communicate with the forest is searching for someone of your name. They come this way.”

The man bowed again, a move which Tsiyone mirrored as well, and then left for the south-east part of camp. He selected a place where he could see and looked around him, looking for whoever was looking for him. A few hours passed, and Nemonni was tempted to return, when a voice called, “Nem?”


A very thin figure made her way towards him and Nem ran forward to help her. “Did you walk all this way from Shalenfear? However did you get enough to eat?”

“Hello uncle,” Vera said, smiling. Her hair was messy but presentable, Estallos still set in them, fluttering their wings with the wind. Her uniform was tattered and torn and her boots were hopelessly worn, but Vera Suis herself was very much fine. “Veraline now,” she corrected, accepting a drink of water from a flask Nem offered.

“I learned a lot in Shalenfear,” she started, “and I figured out how to use my abilities to keep myself alive. I talked to the trees to find out where you were. How did you know I was coming?”

He led her past the last tree before the camp and she gasped. “You’re living with natives?”

“Yes. This is the Karmiti Tribe; the chief’s daughter talks to trees and told me someone was looking for me.”

They continued through the camp, sharing tidbits of news.

They had arrived where Tsiyone was working with Tasuke and Evangeline. “Veraline, this is Tazanna Tsiyone, the daughter of the chief, whom I told you about.”

Tsiyone stood and bowed, the traditional hand-over-fist sign of respect. Vera started to salute, as she had been trained to do as a Cordelian, but stopped and remembered the native salute Nem had taught her so long ago. “Pahan Veraline, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Evangeline and Tasuke also bowed, the latter from his sitting position since he could not stand. “Tasuke,” Nem said, indicating the sitting boy. The two glanced at each other and smiled politely.

“Evangeline,” Nem introduced, but the indicated girl had come over to shake Vera’s hand personally. “I’ve heard a lot about you cousin. Welcome.”

Artist's Note: Yea...Finally done :) Sorry for the late update :P

I dunno what to do about Tsiyone's part, but that's the next major thread for me... unless I get tired of writing character profiles sometime and throw in a random non-character-background thing XD

The following should be defined in Tsiyone's part, but for clarity, this is the translation of the words in native (NOTE: I made these up; they aren't actual native indian words and aren't supposed to be the same as any other author's terminology)
Tazanna--Title for the daughter of the chief
Pahan--Non-native-born brother or sister (I realize this Pahan is also "mage" in Street Magic by Tamora Pierce. This was not intentional.)

@Minsat--thank you for the compliment you wrote on a comment for "Point of an Eraser". <3

~Silver Ink

02 July 2010

The Point of an Eraser

Title: The Point of an Eraser
Author: Lewis
Writing: point-of-view
Word Count: 747

Disclaimer: I do not own Tombow or MONO or anything of the sort. Thank you.

I am an eraser of the MONO variety- easily recognizable in a black-and-blue striped paper jacket and a plastic wrapping. The eraser is one of the most popular and well-used school supply materials around. There’s just one problem: being an eraser is an ensured path to doom.
It’s not as if I don’t realize how noble my existence is. I was created to remove the humans’ errors without a trace, to give them another chance to improve their work. I am a vital component of their daily lives. I am proud of myself and my cause. But I have realized that I will fulfill my destiny at the cost of my own life. Every day, my owner puts me to the paper using a cruel, almost bruising hold. As she erases, bits and pieces of me crumble away, as my rubbery form is unable to handle the paper’s abrasive surface. I am dragged over the paper repeatedly until my owner is satisfied with her work. She brushes the rubber scraps onto the floor, and returns me to the pencil box. Having lost too much weight, I exhaustedly recline in my designated corner.
Even more than gradually wearing away, I fear being broken into pieces. I’ve seen it happen to other erasers before. It begins as a tiny, almost unnoticeable crack one’s surface, forming due to some careless use. The crack spreads (like a tumor), an ever-present threat. One day, the owner uses his/her eraser a little too harshly, and it breaks apart. Sometimes it’s only a small chunk that breaks off a corner. Sometimes the eraser breaks in half. It doesn’t matter what size the chunk is, or how many pieces there are; the effect is the same. Thus, an eraser’s entire life is doomed once it cracks. To remain damage-free, an eraser needs to be kept without being used, and that in itself - denying an eraser its original purpose- is a torture too cruel to bear. No matter what happens to an eraser, its fate is the same. I’ve become somewhat accustomed to the idea, depressing as it sounds. Truth be told, I haven’t been able to discuss this with any other eraser yet, but I am pretty sure that what I’ve assumed is right.
Today, I have a little more than half of me still remaining. My owner has an annoying habit of wanting to clean off the dirty spots that are left after me after use- she cleans it off by erasing even more. After being placed back on the school desk, I survey my surroundings in boredom. One of my owner’s classmate friends passes by and stops to chat, placing her school materials beside me. A small eraser the size of a penny, worn to the point of being useless, rolls by. It’s an elder eraser, I realize with astonishment. Remembering that humans usually look to their elders for advice, I attempt to catch his attention.
“Sir,” I call. “Do you have a moment?” I tell him my thoughts.
The elder eraser- his name is Yorick- answers without hesitation. “Worry not, young eraser. It is not that erasers have no point in being created. Just as all humans will die at some point- long as their life spans are- all erasers will disappear. It is just a part of life. Have you ever read your owner’s writing?”
Bemused, I tell him that I have not. Why does he sound like the solution is so simple?
“Then you are missing out on a whole new plane of ideas. Try reading it next time, and you’ll see. We may have been made just to erase, but we make so many things easier for the humans. Without us, how many times would your owner be wasting pencil lead over scratching out her mistakes? Just how much cleaner did you make the paper, and how much was your owner able to improve her work with your help? You will only regain true peace of mind when you realize just how much you are involved in the creation of these masterpieces. Go forth, child, and learn. I bid you farewell!”
With that, Yorick leaves. My owner resumes writing after jokingly sending her friend away. Such a distracted girl. Yorick’s words leave me confused and bewildered, and I wonder how anything coming from a human like this can give my life any meaning. Within moments, she picks me up and begins to erase.

Haha, so I seem to be writing about the most random things-- the bus, and now an eraser? The bus was purely impulse; I just started riding the bus on my own today! I will no longer be ignorant of buses :) I want to ride with my friends some day. And the eraser... it was an assignment in my summer school class.
Today, our summer school teacher read picture books to us, as well as a Grimm Brothers' version of Cinderella. I just can't get that part -where the stepsisters' eyes get pecked out - out of my head :( And we're supposed to write a retelling of one or another version through another's point of view. One friend says that I should write from the point of view of the carnivorous (human-eye-eating) pigeons.

So thank you for reading! ~Lewis