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As the rain battered down, the great Drake sensed it, Her. He lifted his head skyward expectantly, and shook out his wings in preparation. His anticipation building further as the pressure dropped while he stretched, and raked the soft ground with his talons. His tail twitched, to and fro, as he looked up at the darkening sky, eagerly searching. Tonight, he thought, Tonight, I will catch her.
Thunder rumbled low and ominous, the deep growl of a Sky Dragon reverberating through his chest and body, as if in challenge. And it was one he was eager to accept.
Suddenly, a bright streak appeared as a fork of lightning cut through the thunder clap, and split the sky apart. There! 
In a powerful burst of movement he launched himself from the ground, vertically skyward into the air. With his wings outstretched and beating mightily, he pushed himself harder with each downdraft. He threw himself at the streak of static that was dancing within the arc of each lightning burst. 
The Sky Dragon's Daughter, Thundrah, was his quarry, and her playful, tempestuous spirit responded to his audacious chase not with indifference, but with invitation. The air itself became a living thing, crackling with ozone and the scent of freshly charged rain mingled with wet grass. The wind currents, once a hindrance, now seemed to guide him, pulling him deeper into the very heart of the storm

White background with black text reading: As the rain battered down, the great Drake sensed it, Her. He lifted his head skyward expectantly, and shook out his wings in preparation. His anticipation building further as the pressure dropped while he stretched, and raked the soft ground with his talons. His tail twitched, to and fro, as he looked up at the darkening sky, eagerly searching. Tonight, he thought, Tonight, I will catch her. Thunder rumbled low and ominous, the deep growl of a Sky Dragon reverberating through his chest and body, as if in challenge. And it was one he was eager to accept. Suddenly, a bright streak appeared as a fork of lightning cut through the thunder clap, and split the sky apart. There! In a powerful burst of movement he launched himself from the ground, vertically skyward into the air. With his wings outstretched and beating mightily, he pushed himself harder with each downdraft. He threw himself at the streak of static that was dancing within the arc of each lightning burst. The Sky Dragon's Daughter, Thundrah, was his quarry, and her playful, tempestuous spirit responded to his audacious chase not with indifference, but with invitation. The air itself became a living thing, crackling with ozone and the scent of freshly charged rain mingled with wet grass. The wind currents, once a hindrance, now seemed to guide him, pulling him deeper into the very heart of the storm

Today's #QuickWrite

#Storm #Dragon #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #DragonStory

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The quenching steam hissed and spat as the twice heated metal was plunged into a dousing bucket. The sharp crescendo of hammer on iron was a sound relentless; yet welcoming. It was the true heartbeat of the Forge.”

The Smith pulled the now rapidly cooling steel from the bucket. A momentary hush fell inside the shop, broken only by the rhythmic puff of the bellows, drawing air into the furnace pit. The bucket water, dark and slick with scale and carbon, continued to bubble softly, releasing the last of the captured heat. 

She ignored the smoke and the dry heat that radiated off the flame pit like a living thing, a captured dragonet. Her eyes, permanently narrowed against the glare of the white-hot iron, focused on the delicate workpiece. A blade, a long, elegant dagger. Its edges clean, and its lines, true. It felt solid and keenly obedient in her tongs, with all the promise of sharp perfection.
A knife like this was not meant for cutting bread.This was a tool meant for extraction, whether of information or life, was a choice left entirely to the client.

A white background with black text reading: The quenching steam hissed and spat as the twice heated metal was plunged into a dousing bucket. The sharp crescendo of hammer on iron was a sound relentless; yet welcoming. It was the true heartbeat of the Forge.” The Smith pulled the now rapidly cooling steel from the bucket. A momentary hush fell inside the shop, broken only by the rhythmic puff of the bellows, drawing air into the furnace pit. The bucket water, dark and slick with scale and carbon, continued to bubble softly, releasing the last of the captured heat. She ignored the smoke and the dry heat that radiated off the flame pit like a living thing, a captured dragonet. Her eyes, permanently narrowed against the glare of the white-hot iron, focused on the delicate workpiece. A blade, a long, elegant dagger. Its edges clean, and its lines, true. It felt solid and keenly obedient in her tongs, with all the promise of sharp perfection. A knife like this was not meant for cutting bread.This was a tool meant for extraction, whether of information or life, was a choice left entirely to the client.

Today's #QuickWrite 🗡️

#CreativeWriting #ShortProse #WriterSky #BlackSmith #MetalWorking
#AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAway

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04/12/25

The ship lurched and fell through the dark seas’ swell, a pale moon illuminated the deck and foredeck in an ethereal light. He wouldn't be surprised if ghosts arose, and walked… or swam… this night. Sighing, and gripping the salt stained guard rail, as the ship peaked through another trough, he stood, his thumb rubbing absently a smooth knot in the wood as he looked out. He watched, as his breath began to mist, and he faintly heard… a song?
“... And, when the Spectral Moon comes a’calling, a'calling...’’
Through the briny darkness came a strong, yet haunting, melody. 
“... My wayward thoughts, they turn only to you…”
Not a gruff sailors tenor, this was like honey on wine. He turned once to look about the deck, but he was the only one to draw the watch tonight, while his men were snoring in their hammocks.
The melody grew in tempo, abandoning the slow pace for a quicker, more seductive rhythm.
“... So, lay down your anchor, lay down your dread...” 
“... And sink your warm thoughts inside my cold bed...”

Image 1 White background with black text Reading: 04/12/25 The ship lurched and fell through the dark seas’ swell, a pale moon illuminated the deck and foredeck in an ethereal light. He wouldn't be surprised if ghosts arose, and walked… or swam… this night. Sighing, and gripping the salt stained guard rail, as the ship peaked through another trough, he stood, his thumb rubbing absently a smooth knot in the wood as he looked out. He watched, as his breath began to mist, and he faintly heard… a song? “... And, when the Spectral Moon comes a’calling, a'calling...’’ Through the briny darkness came a strong, yet haunting, melody. “... My wayward thoughts, they turn only to you…” Not a gruff sailors tenor, this was like honey on wine. He turned once to look about the deck, but he was the only one to draw the watch tonight, while his men were snoring in their hammocks. The melody grew in tempo, abandoning the slow pace for a quicker, more seductive rhythm. “... So, lay down your anchor, lay down your dread...” “... And sink your warm thoughts inside my cold bed...”

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Every note was an answer to a question he hadn't ever known he was asking. The coldness of the deck, the loneliness of his watch, the endless labor against the unforgiving ocean - all felt suddenly unbearable. He didn't just want the promised cold rest; he felt he deserved it. His life had been nothing but salt, wood, and hardship. Why should he fight for another dawn?
Somewhere far away, in the back of his mind, he knew what sang, and what its cruel design entailed. It wanted the ship to capsize, and it wanted him. His hand instinctively loosened its grip on the salt-stained rail. The misting of his breath seemed to grow heavier, catching the ephemeral moonlight and forming a shimmering veil between him and the rest of the world.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the song fill his lungs instead of the night sea air.
“... Come, to the current, where silence is gold...” 
“... And let our deep water, the weary one, hold.”
His free hand was already lifting up and out toward a sheet rope, ready to pull up and swing his leg over the side. The voice was both everywhere and nowhere. Its source, impossible to pinpoint, and yet he knew if he opened his eyes, he would see it: a flash of iridescent scales, and an impossible shadow in the lunar light.

Image 2 White background with black text reading: Every note was an answer to a question he hadn't ever known he was asking. The coldness of the deck, the loneliness of his watch, the endless labor against the unforgiving ocean - all felt suddenly unbearable. He didn't just want the promised cold rest; he felt he deserved it. His life had been nothing but salt, wood, and hardship. Why should he fight for another dawn? Somewhere far away, in the back of his mind, he knew what sang, and what its cruel design entailed. It wanted the ship to capsize, and it wanted him. His hand instinctively loosened its grip on the salt-stained rail. The misting of his breath seemed to grow heavier, catching the ephemeral moonlight and forming a shimmering veil between him and the rest of the world. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the song fill his lungs instead of the night sea air. “... Come, to the current, where silence is gold...” “... And let our deep water, the weary one, hold.” His free hand was already lifting up and out toward a sheet rope, ready to pull up and swing his leg over the side. The voice was both everywhere and nowhere. Its source, impossible to pinpoint, and yet he knew if he opened his eyes, he would see it: a flash of iridescent scales, and an impossible shadow in the lunar light.

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But then, his thumb, still absently rubbing that smooth knot in the guard rail, found a splinter, with a sharp, sudden intrusion of pain. It was minor, meaningless, yet the unexpected physical sensation was like a spark of fire burning through the smooth current of the song. The pain anchored him, momentarily overriding the honeyed promise floating in his ears.
He gasped, a sound lost beneath the swell. Duty. The word was sharp and bitter, utterly lacking the siren's simple sweetness, but it was solid. If he went overboard, the ship would continue without a watch, rudderless, risking his sleeping men.
With a grunt that was more strain than effort, he slammed his hand back down onto the rail, gripping the splintered wood until the unholy pull of temptation in his chest was replaced by the throbbing pain in his hand.
"Not tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and unused. "Not this watch."
He didn't quite trust his feet to move him away. Instead, he dragged his gaze away from the sea and focused on the foremast, to a solid, man-made structure piercing the spectral sky. He needed noise, real noise, the noise of work, and danger.

Image 3 White background with black text reading: But then, his thumb, still absently rubbing that smooth knot in the guard rail, found a splinter, with a sharp, sudden intrusion of pain. It was minor, meaningless, yet the unexpected physical sensation was like a spark of fire burning through the smooth current of the song. The pain anchored him, momentarily overriding the honeyed promise floating in his ears. He gasped, a sound lost beneath the swell. Duty. The word was sharp and bitter, utterly lacking the siren's simple sweetness, but it was solid. If he went overboard, the ship would continue without a watch, rudderless, risking his sleeping men. With a grunt that was more strain than effort, he slammed his hand back down onto the rail, gripping the splintered wood until the unholy pull of temptation in his chest was replaced by the throbbing pain in his hand. "Not tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and unused. "Not this watch." He didn't quite trust his feet to move him away. Instead, he dragged his gaze away from the sea and focused on the foremast, to a solid, man-made structure piercing the spectral sky. He needed noise, real noise, the noise of work, and danger.

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He staggered back to the binnacle, fumbling for the lanyard of the great ship's bell, and pulled it, hard. The harsh clang shattered the hypnotic melody, painfully loud in the sudden silence. The bell rang out twice more, a waking alarm for a call to deck.
The song stopped instantly, replaced by the frantic, muffled sounds of confused and groggy sailors scrambling from their hammocks below. He leaned against the rail, heaving and shaking, as he waited for the righteous anger of the newly-woken crew.

Image 4 White background with black text reading: He staggered back to the binnacle, fumbling for the lanyard of the great ship's bell, and pulled it, hard. The harsh clang shattered the hypnotic melody, painfully loud in the sudden silence. The bell rang out twice more, a waking alarm for a call to deck. The song stopped instantly, replaced by the frantic, muffled sounds of confused and groggy sailors scrambling from their hammocks below. He leaned against the rail, heaving and shaking, as he waited for the righteous anger of the newly-woken crew.

A little longer #QuickWrite today, I wanted to see where it went!

#SpectralMoon #Siren #Mermaids #Folklore #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #SeaStories #StoryADayKeepBoredomAway

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"03/12/25

They both stood, bloody, radiant. The crowd roared, as the sun beat down on the unfortunates, scattered amongst the arena. Only three remained, and they stood, trembling, in painted wooden armour. A cheap, pale mockery of the full steel splendour that adorned them both. The three had lost their weapons in the chaos, too. Although, not that wooden training daggers, mere props, would've done much against them and their forged plate, not really. And their five comrades were of little further help. The coarse, baked sand had already gorged itself on them, drinking their spilled life with a greedy efficiency.
All in all, they would dominate this spectacle, but… he huffed in contempt. A challenge would've been nice.

A piece of text, white on a black background reads: "03/12/25 They both stood, bloody, radiant. The crowd roared, as the sun beat down on the unfortunates, scattered amongst the arena. Only three remained, and they stood, trembling, in painted wooden armour. A cheap, pale mockery of the full steel splendour that adorned them both. The three had lost their weapons in the chaos, too. Although, not that wooden training daggers, mere props, would've done much against them and their forged plate, not really. And their five comrades were of little further help. The coarse, baked sand had already gorged itself on them, drinking their spilled life with a greedy efficiency. All in all, they would dominate this spectacle, but… he huffed in contempt. A challenge would've been nice.

Another day, another #QuickWrite

#WriteADay #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #Gladiatorial #Spectacle

⚔️ 🛡️ 🎭

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"Voices called, and yet here she was. Hidden, still holding on, in the dark undergrowth. But the plants had taken over here, too, since the system had begun to fail. The ominous dark smoke curling up from Server Tower 4 had certainly increased, as of late. No longer just during the afternoon pull of demand, as it had done when Wraith was younger. But, the flowers seemed happier, at least.
"Thank goodness for small mercies" she sighed, making herself
comfortable.

A piece of text, white on a black background reading: "Voices called, and yet here she was. Hidden, still holding on, in the dark undergrowth. But the plants had taken over here, too, since the system had begun to fail. The ominous dark smoke curling up from Server Tower 4 had certainly increased, as of late. No longer just during the afternoon pull of demand, as it had done when Wraith was younger. But, the flowers seemed happier, at least. "Thank goodness for small mercies" she sighed, making herself comfortable.

My first #QuickWrite

#ShortProse #CreativeWriting #WriterSky #WriteADay

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Taken up with each word
Captured by a touch alone
Enthralled with that smile
Seen by those eyes
Rapture fills me
With just a look

#poetry #poem #emoetry #5minutepoem #quickwrite

6 2 0 0

A fire smoldering
Striving
To burn

Burn away the dark
Wishing
To blaze

Blaze away the doubt
Growing
To heights

Heights away from fear
Shifting
To optimism

Optimism in a shadowed world

#5minutepoem #quickwrite #emoetry #poetry #poem

18 4 0 0

Tingle and rise
The breath
The time

Nervousness sparks
The looks
The eyes

Engage new words
It gives
It turns

A pressured unease
It takes
It burns

Don't falter now
Rise up in the crowds
Truth keeps turning
A new world abounds

#quickwrite #5minutepoem

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Menaced by hurt
Its speed
Disdains

Menaced by love
Its heed
Sustains

Menaced by fury
Its cede
Inflames

Yet to all of these
My heart
Abstains

#5minutepoem #quickwrite #emoetry #poetry

6 2 1 0

A burn
Unrest
A livid behest

To drive
Again
This hopeless amen

It grows
Alive
The fire revived

#5minutepoem #quickwrite

2 2 1 0
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November 26 #Freewrite

The laurels of our love
breed greed
in unspent desire.
What happens when the fire
burns itself out
on doubt? ...

#poem #poetry #thoughts #musings #thoughtjournal #quickwrite #streamofconsciousness #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #writesky

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Soft,
The skin,
like #lace.
Fragile untouched porceline,
a museum piece,
uncatalogued,
and languishing
behind,
not glass,
but a cardboard,
shard filled crate.
Looking for someone with a crowbar.
To come set it free.

#vss365
#poem #quickwrite #poetsofbluesky

22 3 0 0
Preview
Hope In the Fleeting Moment is hope nonetheless...

Read the rest of the short piece on Substack:
#poetry #creativewriting #creativewriters #nonfiction #prose #artists #artistcommunity #writers #journal #quickwrite #raw #vulnerability

1 0 0 0

Tell me a story in 300 characters or less.

Prompt: Snowstorm
❄️🌨️❄️

#Writing #Writingcommunity #Writer #Writingprompt #Storytelling #Shortstory #Create #WritingChallenge #QuickWrite #CreativeExercise #WritersTips #CreativeHabits #Authors

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