[Writing] Plamen Oren (sampler chapter 1)

[Lady Buggery]

Yep, so this is the latest revision of chapter 1 of my novel, Plamen Oren. Its on Lulu BUT don't buy it. The latest revision isn't up...the last revision is crap. Don't waste your money. But for anyone who's interested, 2 bucks scores you the latest revision when its done.

Note: This chapter is more dramatic if you listen to the following songs while reading it:

Loreena McKennitt : "The Mystic's Dream" (live)
Dead can Dance: "Arrival and the Reunion"
Massive Attack: "Teardrop (radio edit)"

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Plamen Oren --- By Christina Krankemann

I: The Eastern Wind

A crisp wind crept into the mountains from the east. As it passed through the pines' furry fingers it chilled the very skin of the forest floor. The mountains that lined the rim of the forest valley seemed to grumble at the wind's chilly touch. Faint lights danced in the midst of all the activity. Some where just tiny specks of dust that shined in light that broke through the canopy. Others flittered around of their own will with the life force given by the old trees that surrounded them. The pine pixies and mid-summer fairies danced as their little heart-orbs fluttered with anticipation of what the bold, eastern wind might bring.
When the eastern wind faded, the little folk noticed a strange presence in their sheltered wood. The wind brought a figure, of human size, but certainly not of human origin. No mortal man bore hair so violently red, like the color of a forest blaze. Nor could mortal man have eyes the color of smoldering embers. Looking at his cloaked form was akin to peering into the deepest cave. His face bore no smile or hint of emotion, just a neutral mask. The little folk darted about in the dusty summer air, trying to get a better vantage point to view the spectacle.
   The stranger's horse seemed to be made of shadow and smoke. The spots where its sharp hooves touched became scorched piles of ash. The tiny pixies had not seen such a set of creatures since the forest that bore them began falling asleep. The only mortal-sized, inhuman creatures that remained in the valley were the fey and they were often malevolent spirits. Their presence alone would cause the tree leaves to wilt and the small folk to head for shelter. Despite the fearsome appearance of the foreign pair, the wind's companions made their way through the wood without incident. The traveler's mouth gaped in awe of the ancient trees that dwarfed him. He ran his fingers along the pockmarked skin of the redwoods as he passed. The bark was unharmed by the soft touch unlike the marred ground on which he traveled. The snoozing tree spirits shuddered as they felt a dull heat on their outer shell.
Some of the braver fairies followed him on his slow trek through the rocky path. Their delicate butterfly wings glittered in the late summer sun as they slowly grew bolder. Some dared flutter beside him, trying to catch a glimpse of his otherworldly features. He smiled and extended his hand to them, inviting them to sit between his long fingers.
"I am Oren, who are you?" Oren's voice seemed far too gentle for his fearsome appearance. His mask of neutrality shifted to a genuine smile as the fairies and pixies began giggling and speaking their titles. They fluttered around, some stopping to ride upon his free hand and shoulders with big smiles on their small faces. Their brief glee quickly faded with the coming of trees' end. The little folk flew away, back into the green shelter, with their curiosities satiated. At the edge of the forest lay a river whose source was the very mountains Oren had just crossed. He rode down the treacherous slope to the river's edge where unknown bounty awaited him. The smell of fresh water made him softly smile and close his eyes. After a moment basking in the river's fragrance, Oren dismounted onto the rocky ground and tied his steed to a nearby sapling. The horse snorted at the action, as if it were somehow insulted by it. It scarped its hooves along the cool stones, flicking small bits of ash into the nearby grass.
Oren then took off his dark cloak, fully revealing his form to the many hidden eyes of the forest. His freckled face seemed to glow in proximity to his long red hair. His crimson eyes were like twin beacons shining in an already bright sky.  Oren took off a knapsack he kept around his shoulder and went to the river's edge.
   Kneeling beside the flowing water, he took a moment to reflect upon his weathered face. Thin lines were distorted by the river's flow but still visible to him. It seemed the long trip had taken some small toll on his once pristine, youthful appearance. He frowned as he dipped his cupped hands into the soothing water and began washing his face. He let the water slowly run down his freckled neck and back, allowing the chilly river water to baptize him into the arms of the new land. Crimson eyes lingered on the water a moment before closing once more. Oren took a deep breath, held it, and let the air escape him as he sat back onto his feet that were bent beneath him. He leaned to the side and pulled some fishing supplies out of his knapsack. Once the line was prepared it was cast into the river in hopes of landing a small fish. Though Oren looked like an immortal fey, he ate as a human did.
   As he waited for his supper to arrive, Oren took a small, leather-bound book from his bag. The pages of the book were tattered at the ends from its owner's travels. Small grains of sand fell from its binding as he gave it a little shake. He placed the fishing rod between his feet, leaving his hands free to peruse the battered tome. The volume was peppered with verse, most of which had been scratched out with short, deep strokes. The letters progressed from complex ink pictures to simple charcoal lines as Oren learned new languages and began shedding his old identity. He shook his head at the sight of his fruitless scribbles and began ripping pages from the volume. He crumpled them up and tossed the lost thoughts into the river where they silently floated away, drifting from memory.
   Oren pulled a small stick from between the pages and spine. He briefly closed his eyes in concentration, summoning a small flame from the astral plane into his left hand. Oren dipped the tip of the small stick into the center of the heated plume and let it burn a moment before snuffing the newly formed flame with his breath. He closed his flame baring hand, sending the energy back into the realm of dreams. Small wisps of smoke rose from the tip of the stick as Oren began tapping it on the upper left corner of the page. Despite their beauty, the trees and mountains provided little inspiration. Even his fellow spirits failed to conjure any hint of creativity onto the page. Oren struggled, but managed to write a single quatrain. 

'I rode to paradise on smoke and ash,
watching river water, at my feet, crash.
The Pine Mountains, my dearest elder kin:
What awaits me when tomorrow begins?'

   Oren wrinkled his nose at the lines and tore the page from his book. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the river.
   "I should pay more attention to finding food, eh Marimaru?" He turned to see his smoky steed contently munching on sparse onion grass, trying desperately not to let it near his scathing hooves. Oren's own stomach growled with envy. After another hour or so of patient diligence, he managed to snag a small salmon. His riding trousers became drenched with river water as he scrambled to capture the flailing fish before it got the upper hand. The salmon gasped and slipped from his grasp several times before Oren struck it against a large stone. With a single crack, the fish became a meal. Oren brought his catch away from the river and placed it on a rough patch of grass. He gathered dry, fallen sticks from the underbrush and began constructing a fire-site. Once his collection of twigs was erected into a suitable cooking-pyre, he knelt before it and closed his eyes.
   Oren began to focus on the small pyre as he did his hand. His breathing became slow and rhythmic. The concentrated energy formed a dull light in the center of the twig-bundle. A small glowing eye pattern appeared in the center of Oren's forehead and began to pulse. As the third eye grew in brightness, it caused small wisps of smoke to rise from the bundle of twigs. A fire emerged and engulfed the wood, allowing Oren to cook his dinner. He broke his concentration and the glowing eye upon his forehead vanished. He gutted the salmon, impaled it on a small stick, and held it over the fire. The smell of fresh fish cooking made him smile. Despite the tranquility of the scene, Oren could hear something moving about in the forest.
Magpies flew from their high perches into the endless sky. The sounds of twigs snapping grew louder as the source of the disturbance drew closer. Then three men armed with hunting weapons and carrying a large boar carcass came from the forest. They all dressed in animal-skin clothing and were built as solid as the oak-covered mountains. The central figure seemed cleaner than his companions; less mud and animal blood covered his form. The men seemed equally distressed to see Oren as he was to see them as they visibly tightened their grips on their weapons.
    As the men walked cautiously toward where the small fire burned, Oren placed his food aside and stood. He reached a hand behind him to grasp a hidden knife in his belt. The central man, with a long knife sheathed on his hip, walked closer to Oren with his hands raised. He was a head taller than Oren, wore a thin beard, and bore a darker complexion. The man saw the smoke-horse and assumed that Oren was some kind of sorcerer or forest spirit. The man marveled at Oren's features a moment before addressing him in his native tongue, inquiring as to where the fiery spirit had come from. Oren could hear the mixture of fear and apprehension in his voice, just barely masked. When the man didn't get a response he resorted to using hand motions. He smiled and bowed his head, taking the hunting knife tied to his belt and placing it on the ground. Oren slowly bowed his head as well and watched as the taller man placed his hand on his own chest. Oren didn't loosen his grip on the hidden knife.
   "Owen Redoak." He patted his chest before outstretching his hand to Oren, as if asking for something tangible. It took the confused newcomer a few moments to realize that he was being asked for his name. He hesitated, being asked for the first, most personal possession he ever received. Oren never told humans, not even his most intimate mortal friends his real name. He used many aliases in his travels but in this instance he uttered nothing in response. He did, however, relinquish his hawk-talon grip on his knife. Owen smiled and waved his hands in front of him, assuming Oren didn't understand his question. He placed a finger upon Oren's loose red hair and pointed to the fire.
   "Plamen, you're Plamen." Owen smiled and pointed to the cooking pyre. Oren gave a small smile as he nodded. He would take the name given to him and would not so much as think of himself as "Oren" while in Owen's presence. Plamen looked to the slow-spreading fire and understood the implication. But to his chagrin the flame for which he was named had traveled onto his supper, burning it to nothing. Plamen cursed as he turned to his spoiled dinner. He began to blow on it and peal the outer layer of flesh in hopes that some meat would be spared. Owen crouched to watch him futilely search for edible meat. Plamen, in his frustration, threw the fish to the ground. Owen pointed to the fish then to himself once more.
   "It is my fault, I made your fish burn. I am sorry."
   "I don't think he understands you, Owen, leave him be. We need to get back before dark or the fey might appear and turn us all into asses." One of the other men insisted as he looked to the trees with suspicion in his eyes. The forest was slowly loosing its magic but all feared the remaining inhabitants of the old wood. Owen laughed at the thought of seeing his little brother being turned into a jackass.   
"I know Vernon; give me a moment will you? It never good to meet someone like this and just leave him to his own devises." Owen asserted. The other man, named Wallace, nodded in agreement.
   "Hurry it up then. You know how I feel about his lot." Wallace sneered with narrowed eyes to Plamen, who frowned at being addressed in such a way. Owen sighed at the rising hostility and grasped Plamen's hand in an attempt to promote friendship per his custom. Plamen, offended by the touch, tore his hand from Owen's grasp. Owen recoiled and looked to his kinsman for interpersonal wisdom he seemed to be lacking. They shrugged and gripped their weapons a little tighter, never taking their eyes off the strange spirits before them. Plamen's hand tingled with uncomfortable energy.
   "Don't touch me." Plamen spoke, though accented by his own native tongue, in the language of the hunters. The gentle voice heard by the small folk was gone. Owen sat up and looked to Plamen with a confused expression.   
   "You know our language?" Owen stammered. Plamen stood and ran his shaking fingers through his hair.
   "Yes I do. You were the one who assumed I didn't." Owen blushed slightly under his thin brown beard. It was true, in that short time a lot of assumptions had been made, he thought.
   "O-oh, forgive me." He stood and bowed his head in apology. "Are you a friend to these woods, then?" Owen's voice shook in the presence of the angered spirit. Plamen crossed his arms.   
   "If you're asking me if I plan on eating you, no." Plamen's indignant expression made Owen nervously laugh. He patted Plamen on the shoulder, causing him to tense up at the touch.
   "I'm terribly sorry. I don't mean any insult to you, friend. Many spirits in this forest make a game of hurting my people and I can't be too careful. My village is not too far from here. It is not safe in the wood at night especially if there are fey around; you are more than welcome to stay with me as a token of my apologies." Wallace and Vernon seemed shocked at the statement. Plamen bitterly smirked as they began telling Owen to reconsider. He cast the hunters a cynical gaze. His crimson eyes caused them to wriggle inside like worms in the presence of a hungry red bird.
   "Are you sure you want a fire-monster like me in your village? 'One such as me', you can never be too careful after all." Plamen shook his head. His words caused Owen to laugh. Something in Plamen's tone seemed too serious, unnaturally so. If this Plamen wanted to hurt them, he would have done so already, Owen thought. Plamen, however, was not amused. "Is there a flaw in my language or in my humor?"
   "I'm sorry for laughing. I meant nothing by it. Please, I insist you come to my village, especially now since I have so much to be sorry for." Plamen looked the hunter in the eye. The contrast of green and red vision did little to break the friendly connection Owen was offering the seemingly closed off Plamen.
   Plamen had lived among humans all his life, and carried the scars on his body as testament. The only restful times came in the forests of the world, away from the mortal sphere. But something always brought him eye to eye with man, as if encounters were increasingly unavoidable.  In the end Plamen's resolve was extinguished and he agreed to Owen's offer.
   "I've nothing better to do and I am tired from my travels. I will accept your apology."
   "Wonderful!" Owen stood and told his companions to gather Plamen's things and tend to his steed. Despite their fear of the beast, it behaved as any common horse would, though it was reluctant to part from the grass on which it preyed. Owen smiled and bowed his head to his new guest before picking up his hunting knife.   
   "Welcome to my woods, Plamen."

[Kipiru]

I still haven't finished reading the whole chapter, but something caught my attention. The name Owen gives to Oren- Plamen. How did you come up with it?

[Lady Buggery]

I still haven't finished reading the whole chapter, but something caught my attention. The name Owen gives to Oren- Plamen. How did you come up with it?

It was sort of a happy accident. I named the characters independent of one another so it wasn't until things all came together did I realize I did that . Owen is actually a variant of the Greek "Eugine" meaning "well born." Owen could also be taken as a play on the name "Owain" who is a heroic figure in Welsh myths. Oren is a Hebrew name meaning "Pine Tree" and Plamen is a Bulgarian name meaning "Fire" I have all the info and stuff on naming on the site for the book. Which is just Plamenoren.com I'm a naming Nazi .

[Kipiru]

I only asked cause I'm Bulgarian and the name was spot on. I actually have a cousin named Plamena.

[Lady Buggery]

I only asked cause I'm Bulgarian and the name was spot on. I actually have a cousin named Plamena.

Dude....that is SO AWESOME! I bet Plamena is SMOKIN HOT . Seriously though, that is truly awesome. You have no idea how many times I have to explain Plamen to people. Bulgarian isn't really widely known here...at all so yeah, its rare for me to find someone who gets it *snuggles*

[Kipiru]

And to finally comment on the story itself  - You really have a thing about the red color, that aside, the main character is awesome, I loved the first time description of him in the forest. You do surroundings descriptions excellent, one can almost smell the water the way you describe it. In short- impressive work.

Side note: My cousin IS hot and she sings metal(Evanescence, Within Temptation kind of stuff) and her band is called "Lake Of Flames". 

[Lady Buggery]

Why thank you, and omg I may have to go gay for your cousin she sounds freakin awesome. I sing old style Nightwish But my name, Christina, doesn't lend itself well to metal...

And since you are a bone-a-fied Bulgarian person, I need to know something so I can set the record straight: How do you properly pronounce the name? So many people say "Play-men" I prefer to say it "Plah (like the ah in almond) - men". Studying Scandinavian languages in particular has taught me that letters in one language DO NOT sound like letters in another. So yeah how to you pounce the name the Bulgarian way?

[Kipiru]

Well you got it right actually, the "Pl" is like in plum, the "a" is like in aha (short) and "men" is pronounced like men, simple as that. And why don't you style your name so it sound similar to what it is but in the same time feel right for metal, I did it with my family name- Stariradev turned into Starrider 

Here is something for you to see if you feel interested: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=236878756

[Lady Buggery]

YAY I feel skilled in the ways of language. Now if someone says "uh Play-men Oren?" I can be like "NO FOO IT'S PLAH-MEN!"

And wow, Plamena is pretty. If my book ever becomes famous, they can have dibs on the soundtrack . My book is highly influenced by traditional folk songs, new age, and METAL _\m/. I may need more metal for the new content I'm planning. Totally battle-based. I really like their song "Like in a Dream." Her voice and the piano is especially nice.

Also a note: you won't like Alrick if you ever get to read him. He makes fun of the name Plamen, saying you only name pets that kind of name. But everyone else thinks its awesome and fits him better than Oren XD.

[Kipiru]

Glad you enjoyed the site and music  If you have any other questions about Bulgarian stuff feel free to ask. Meanwhile keep writing awesome stuff(if you have any song lyrics you wish to share I can give them to my cousin)

[Lady Buggery]

Glad you enjoyed the site and music  If you have any other questions about Bulgarian stuff feel free to ask. Meanwhile keep writing awesome stuff(if you have any song lyrics you wish to share I can give them to my cousin)

DO I!?!? I write poems that are songs that are poems all the time. I'll let them use whatever they like so long as they pimp my stuff a little Like "this song's lyrics were written by an American..." on second thought that might be bad for their image . But yeah their English is awesome and I'd be happy to write things for them. All they'd really need to do is say, "Christina, write me a song about ____" And I'd come up with something. I've been doing one word poetry inspiration things for months now (I am thinking of posting the in the selling stuff section though I doubt people will buy poems from me )

Also, if you're interested, when I'm done with the latest revision, I can send you an ebook of it. I'm just happy when people read and enjoy my work. Hordes of money comes later maybe.

[Kipiru]

Thanks, I'll relay that info to Plamena as soon as i can. And I would love the ebook.

[Lady Buggery]

Thanks, I'll relay that info to Plamena as soon as i can. And I would love the ebook.

Sounds great. I was working on it a bit today, editing out some boring bits, fixing typos and grammar errors and the like. I'm looking forward to the add. Though I will warn you, everything after chapter 2 is fairly light on descriptions, in favor of pushing the action along quicker. So while there is lots of almost tactile description in chapters 1 and 2, there is only necessary description from then on out. Otherwise the darn thing would be like 1000 pages XD.

[Kipiru]

I know what you mean, I tried writing a book like you once and just like you started with lavish descriptions of the winds and woods and ended up doin a play by play of the fight sequences. Of course your stuff's in a whole other league than mine. Now I stick with drawing.

[Lady Buggery]

Well the thing is you need to put people in an environment, make them feel like they're in the story, watching things happen as if they were there. Once you place people there its a lot easier to keep them there without drowning them in descriptions. There comes a point, I feel, that too much description slows things down too much and the reader actually has trouble following what's actually going on. At least that's what happens to me. People say the story is a fast read, which is good in my opinion, I hate laggy books.