Thursday, 30 October 2014


Bodies laid strewn across the streets as they passed through the small town. Some were still alive, reaching out a hand while rasping a plea for assistance. The sight of the blood soaked land strewn with corpses sent a shiver down Nya's spine as she drew closer to Sevren.
Nya was not prepared for the sight they came upon in the village square. Piles of bodies were heaped in the snow, their frost covered hands reaching outwards for any help. Any cries they had made would have only been heard by the wind and falling snows.

"What happened here?"
Severn surveyed the street, and saw no smoke came from the snow covered roof tops. Normally by this time of year every hearth was lit, from Winterhaven to the strath of Eladamear. Nya joined in the scanning of the grey sky for plumes of smoke, but the chimneys were silent as the cold, dead streets. Only the cries of the damned and the wind mourning them could be heard as they walked through out the village.

Men, women, and even children laid dead in the streets, their skin frosted over white with bright red droplets of blood that had spurt from their mouths. Not a soul seemed to be spared.

"Nya, over here!" Severn called from the fountain.

Nya walked over to the fountain craning her neck over the ledge to see what his was pointing at. Lining the base of the fountain, barely visible in the weak sunlight, were thousands of clear, tiny crystals, cracked open. "I think this what killed them."

Friday, 24 October 2014

Blog Details

I keep several blogs and have recently found that each is a repeat up to a point of my primary website Talesfromthemists.
So here’s a break down of what the blogs/pages are:
Home of “Camelot Shall Fall”, novel excerpts, faerie stories and myths and monthly short stories, or updates for those projects. (here)
Home of traditional high fantasy short stories (reminiscent of Tolkien...sort of) and all stories featuring Nya, Sevren and Aeglossion is a site that will soon be featuring reviews on books I have read, and other such things. is a place for original short stories that do not fit in any of these sites.

Thursday, 23 October 2014


The creature shrank beneath the dead black shrubs, crying and burying itself in the snow. Nya bent over whispering softly to it. "Come on, it's alright."

She heard light footsteps crunching the freshly fallen snow and turned to see her friend trudging through the snows, clutching his cloak around his body as the wind tossed his messy black hair. 

"What are you doing?" Sevren asked kneeling down beside her placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Hush you!" Nya hissed. "I've found a hatchling. You'll frighten him off."

At this Sevren jumped back and unsheathed his sword. "I suspect his mother's close by then. We should leave."

Nya rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh as she looked back to his scarf-covered face. "Dragons hatch their eggs in caves, eejit. If his mother were still alive she wouldn't have let him get this far."

The tiny dragon let out another cry, his breath formed a thin white frost on the black brambles. Nya should have known! The hatchling was an ice dragon! He was pure white with ice blue eyes, and lived this far north. Nya's hatchling was the first ice dragon to be seen in two thousand years.

"How long can a cold egg go unhatched, Sevren?" Nya asked offering a piece of salted meat from her belt pouch. 

"I...I don't know. No one's really ever written about it."

Slowly, the dragon sniffed the meat and left his safe haven. He ventured out into the open sky, despite his fears, his blue eyes darting around quickly. When Nya dropped the meat into her lap, the dragon quickly followed the food. Once he was satisfied no one was going to harm him, he curled up in her lap, nestling deep into the folds of her skirts.

"I suppose you're going to ask if we can keep him?" Sevren huffed sheathing his sword.

"No, Sevren."

Sevren knelt beside her and gave a relaxed smile. "I'm glad--"

"Because he's already ours. And his name's Aeglossion."

Gollum vs Smeagol Rap Battle (The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings)

Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Blog Makeover!

To add to the otherworldy ascetic given by literature (and the feel I want the site to give) I have made over the website. The background picture is done by Jessica Woods Lee, entitled "Finding Enchantment".

Other news. I tried to add the buttons to this site for each social media I post to, and sadly, the "gadget" would not work. I will try again at some point. But for now you can follow me on:
And my primary website can be found on:

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Lament of a Highland Woman

This is a poem of a highland woman, I wrote in two movements. The first movement of the is a her side of a conversation with her husband and the second movement is her coming to see him after the battle.

My love, do not leave for the call of war
I will not have you die
As so many who left did before

The king has soldiers and knights to aid
his cause so lost. You need not lie
deep in the earth, your frozen corpse laid

My love, forget you that we have a bairn?
A bonny lass who keeps your heart and eye
For her be more than 'neath a cairn

Fine! Go now, love, for you'll not stay
To battle you march, my heart you'll bear
I'll think not of your lily flesh
We shall lay no dirt in your bright red hair


Have you seen my love? They say he fought today.
My truest love, the lad with bright red hair
his lily flesh, and his eyes are blue
Have you seen my love? I know he is not slain!

I walked through the field to find my soldier fair
with his lily flesh and his bright red hair
I'll hear not that mine own love so true
Had been taken down, and closed his eyes so blue

I walked among the many slain, to find my soldier fair
Wailing girls knelt beside there loves, their cries echoed as I walked through the mud
I searched high and low for my love's bright hair
Lying near a horse, I saw his lily flesh and bright red blood.

I dug his gave deep in the earth so bare
I wept for him as I built his cairn
My true loves eyes, I closed so blue
And I laid the dirt in his bright red hair.

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

Aster's Heart Available on Kindle!

91dGeXchzpL._AA1500_Taking my first step into paid publishing I had published “Aster’s Heart” a short story about Prince Ragnar of a proud viking people and his wife setting out onto a mysterious  island in the west filled with magic and horror.*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Friday, 10 October 2014

Arthurian Fantasy Serial

So my other website is the home of "Camelot Shall Fall" but I wanted to share my work so far with you. It is supposed to be reminiscent of the old Welsh myths and some names in the serial have been changed to reflect that.

Igraines Paradise: A Castle by the Sea

Silvered moonlight weaved through the thin veil of rolling mists that swept over Cornwall's shore and into the window of the Lady Igraine's chamber window. Cold came in from the salt waves that battered the rocky craigs the lonely castle Dintagel called home. a dewy mist frosted over the window and despite the fire burning away in her hearth, the lady felt only cold.
     The sea cried below her only growing more violent with each passing moment and the babe in her stomach cried to be free. It was Igraine's turn to cry out as the pain took over her body. The midwife and waiting ladies cared for her every need, seeing to it that she was looked after thoroughly. They spoke to her, put a damp cloth on her brow and the midwife stayed at her post, watching for the child to crown.
It was all a fog, Igraine was only vaguely aware of the goings on around her, and even the pain of the birthing seemed to barely register. She was only brought from her numbness when the child ripped out her, tearing through her insides to come into the world. Igraine gave a shriek that could part the mists as she gave one last push.
She heard her child cry in the distance as they carried her off to be cleaned. The midwife at her bedside was attempting to stay the bleeding. Igraine grew colder by each passing second as the very life drained out of her. Weariness clouded her mind as her eyes floated around the room, her body too weak to shiver, her mind unfocused, Igraine had accepted that she may die on her birthing bed despite Elowen's best efforts.
She faintly heard a tapping on her window and slowly moved her eyes upwards, straining for the laziest of movements. The last thing she saw was a raven perched on the branch of a shedding elm, its black eyes staring into her as the mists parted to reveal a full moon behind it and the seas below quieted with the distant cries of her child.
 *                                                                          *                                                                       *

The child wailed inconsolably as Igraine paced up and down the chamber. Mórghaínne she had named her, it seemed fitting for both its meanings, the sea calmed her and Igraine had the unshaking feeling her daughter would be great, possibly a queen. When it wasn't too cold Igraine had taken her down for walks along the beach with her eldest daughter Morrowen picking up seashells and bits of drift wood. Mórghaínne however had been born on Samhain, and the weather did not stay warm long after that.
Morrowen had been such an easy child. Even birthing her had proved to be the easier of Elowen's tasks as a midwife. Igraine and her husband Gorlois adored their quiet beautiful baby. Even now at four years old Morrowen kept that behaviour.
Mórghaínne was different from her older sister in every way. Morrowen had Igraine's smooth red-gold hair, slender build and cornflower blue eyes that observed everything. Mórghaínne observed, and had her quiet moments, but often her green eyes were closed to the world and she wailed.
“ Mórghaínne,” Igraine sighed in her failed attempts to quiten her daughter.
“My Lady,” Elowen came into the chamber holding Morrowen's hand. The midwife and nurse was a stoutly woman with bright red hair and a permanent matronly smile which normally soothed Igraine.
“What is it?”
“There's a Cymri bard here to see you. A gift for the bairn I think.”
“Very well,” Igraine sighed.
She came to meet the bard in her solar and Mórghaínne finally silenced in her lap, looking out the window at the ravens flying by, watching each one intently and seriously.
“Lady Igraine,” called a familiar voice.
“Myrddin?” she gasped turning to meet her old friend.
Myrddin stood in the entrance leaning on an oaken staff dressed in holy with a small woodharp strapped on his shoulder and a raven perched on the other shoulder. He looked upon her with smiling green eyes. His black hair fell to his shoulders and grey had come into his beard. He wasn't too much older than her, she thought, but he held the wisdom of past centuries.
“You've escaped the Nemetons, I see,” Igraine chuckled bouncing Mórghaínne on her hip.
“I've been travelling for quite sometime, my lady.”Myrddin replied. “I've just come back from Eireann. Before that I had been in Normandy, Alba, and the frigid Northlands. Most courts these days welcome a bard more kindly than a druid, though the Nemetons here in Albion and Eireann all thought to welcome me.”
Mórghaínne stared at Myrddin with her wide green eyes, blinking at him knowingly. Igraine looked from her daughter to Myrddin concern growing in her heart. She turned from her friend to the window looking out to the sea. Morrowen stood on her tip toes to gaze at the waves through the roving mists.
“Morghainne isn't Gorlois's is she?”
Igraine bit her lip turning to look in to her friend's fey emerald eyes. She held to her youngest daughter more tightly as the world came crashing down around her. If Gorlois were to find out she knew it would mean her death and the death of her child. Morrowen's legitimacy might fall into question as well. “I am glad to see you as ever, Myrddin, but you need to leave.”
“Igraine,” he sighed placing his hand on her shoulder. “Is she...?”
“Who the hell else do think it would be?” she snapped near tears. “You need to leave.”
“Igraine, there is something you need to know if I...”
The doors to Igraine's solar opened and in through walked the Duke of Cornwall, Gorlois beamed, his hazel eyes gleaming in the torchlight dressed in dark blue finery with his yellow beard and hair well groomed and newly trimmed. He bent down to kiss his wife and his daughter's cheek. “Ah, Myrddin, here to regale my new daughter with fantastic tales and songs?”
“Actually, Myrddin is otherwise engaged and was just about to leave.”
“Lady Igraine,” Myrddin started.
“I will perhaps see you again soon, my lord.”
Myrddin cast his eyes downward, his face drawn as he stiffly bowed his head. “I will return soon, my lady.”
Hurt, Myrddin left the room  with his head bowed. Igraine turned back to her window to see the waves batter the cliffs once more, wishing desperately she were riding upon the waves and drifting out to sea.  
"Look! Look!" Morrowen begged her father with a smile on her shining face. She shoved a yellow-haired fabric doll in his face. "Elowen made her for me!"
Gorlois grunted happily as he lifted her daughter into the air. "And what a fine specimen she is, almost as lovely as you!"
Igraine smiled at her daughters and her husband as the evening melted away into the warm glow off the evening hearth. Igraine sighed heavily and tried to keep the tears from brimming over. She knew Myrddin's visit was not just a call from some old friend, and despite all her smiles and laughter that night with her dear family; Igraine knew that her paradise by the sea would soon be at an end.

Tuesday, 7 October 2014

Laoise of Sionnan

Laoise awoke to the early morning mists rolling out over her forest home. She got up slowly and slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder clad  in a green tunic and brown leggings for hope she would blend into the forests. 

Under the thick green canopy, dappled sunlight burned away the mists on the higher places while it lingered in the wild entangled shrubbery close to the rivulet that trickled from on of three rivers that fed her hidden people. Laoise felt the cool fog raise gooseflesh from her pale skin and felt invigorated. Elves always felt a deep connection to the natural world, and Laoise was training to become a Sister to defend the forest.

Yet despite all of that, she never felt more connect with nature than when she strolled through Sionnan Forests alone with her bare feet pressing into the soils. No ancient magic or lessons, or even prayer and meditation could match Laoise's strolls. Deer crunched over the leaves, and birds flew over head. The forest was alive and teeming with life much like the fish in the rivers and Laoise was a part of all of it.

That was when she heard it. It was a sound Laoise had not heard in the deep of the forests for quite sometime. A creature that walked on two feet rather than four, but far too light on their feet to be human. She picked it up with her keen Elven senses, and heard it up in a towering tree. Weary, Laoise knocked an arrow into her bow and climbed upwards, hoping it might be one of her people but also knowing this deep in Sionnan she had to be careful.

Slowly she climbed and was shocked to see who stood on the branch above her. The Elf stood hunched over with her bow taut and aimed at her with red-gold hair dressed in a forest green tunic and brown leggings...Laoise was staring at herself!

Seeress of Ciells

Originally posted on my Describli site as a response to a prompt. With some minor changes this will be the first chapter of the last book for my series. Much of the plot is here, so feel free to suggest a title and provide feedback in the comments. Also posted on my wordpress blog at

The queen sat opposite the hooded woman pouring water into the silvered cauldron. The cavern was dark in the flickering candle light, the orange light reflecting off the still waters. The woman was robed in white with long silver hair peaking out from her mantle, a silver pendant hung from her neck bearing a resemblance to the young queen’s own necklace. It intrigued her, but she said nothing of her dead mother’s trinket.
“Queen Saoirse of the forests,” said the fey woman in an ethereal voice floating over the water.
“Great things will come of your struggle, your legacy will ring true as this world fades into myth and legend.”
Saoirse’s eyes grew wide at the seeress’s prediction, the world was to fade into the realm of legend even after everything she had done to save it. Saoirse, her brother and her friends had sacrificed their safety, their childhoods, and some of her men have even sacrificed their lives to prevent such events from coming to pass.
The old wizard from her father’s castle had prophesied the events that would lead the Chosen to bring down the forces of darkness. She had done everything that old man had said for years, not questioning any request no matter how strange. Now her father, her best friend, and many of her men laid deep in the earth, and the Seeress of Ciells was telling her it was all for not.
“Do not lose all hope, my queen,” the seeress whispered staring down into the pool of water as forms moved on its now rippled surface. “What do you see?”
Saoirse craned her neck over the cauldron and saw flashes of images almost two quick to process. A burnt battle field, a young woman with flowing black hair standing before a crowd of angry men, her brother sauntering out of the forest clad in green armor with his long sword in hand and the five-point star upon his shield, an emerald dragon raising his great head to the sky yawning to the moon, the tree of the nine worlds, and an isle vanishing into the mists. She was unable to interpret the visions the seeress gave her, despite her Sight.
“What was that?” Saoirse said gripping the faerie treasure that hung around her neck.
The seeress lowered her mantle to reveal a young white face, with emerald eyes and a silver head dress of a crescent moon upon her brow and silver locks that fell past her knees. The lady was too young, not too much older than Saoirse herself, the ancient Seeress of Ceills was barely out of her twenties. No, that wasn’t right, for the Seeress had always been described as thus…
“You’re one of the sidhe?”
“Yes. The sidhe are very interested in the outcome of these competing prophecies. We are wardens of the earth and keepers of the deep. It is in our interest to ensure this branch lives on.”
“Of the Crann Na Beatha?” Saoirse gasped clutching her mother’s necklace even more tightly. “If a branch of root dies…this isn’t just a struggle to save our world, is it?”
“No, child, it’s not.”
Saoirse stood from the table and paced the width of the cavern. “But you said this world would fade into myth and legend. If the fate of one branch is entwined with all the others, than how is it a sure thing that we will vanish into the mists, yet prophesied that we can save the nine worlds?”
The seeress waved her hand over the cauldron and closed her eyes singing lightly in the Old Tongue. Wind blew through the mossy fronds covering the mouth of the cave causing the candles to snuff out, leaving them in complete darkness.
In the darkness with her keen eyes could pick up the seeress and her silver hair blowing in the wind that swirled around her, her song grew louder and her eyes glowed white in the darkness. Saoirse watched half in awe and half in terror as the Seeress sang her prophecy. She could only devise some words from the ancient tongue. Death, vanish, fade, Ragnorak, magic, life…It seemed not to make sense, but all the same it filled her heart with dread.
The wind died down and the candles were re-lit filling the cavern with a flickering orange light and the seeress stood over the cauldron bent over, clutching her chest and gasping for air.
Saoirse ran to the Faerie woman’s aid, using her own small body as a support.
“What did you see?”
“The conflicting prophecies are not as they seem, my queen.” she gasped. “The two prophecies are not just conflicting. One of the of prophecies that is false.”

Thursday, 2 October 2014

Welcome to the Staff the Sword and the Pen!

Dear Readers,
I am a fiction writer writing in the genre of fantasy, mostly high fantasy hence the title of this blog "The Staff the Sword and the Pen".  Stories have the potential to take us on a journey to another world where there is wonder and light, but also untold horrors. We enjoy and learn from stories and the experience is often a treasured one.

I hope to take you on such a journey with the several stories I will be posting on this page.
 You can find work of mine not only on this site but also on: (a contest prompt, and will be featured in their 2014 ebook

 anthology of contest winners to be released near march)

amateur writing den (for memebers only)

describli (also members)

I am also a wrimo for you wrimos out there

I am also horribly indecisive and over the years have bounced around with pen names, so here they are:

Lily Gardner

Lily-Maeve La Fey

and Maeve La Fey

and my primary blog  and publications on dkc are my under my real name Deborah J. Anderson.