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Cur 2 Chapter 15 ‘Limbs’

Pain; the words lights up his brain like a falling star. Pain; the one thing that kept him alive, kept him clinging on, reminded him what he had to do, who he was doing it for, all the pain, the endless pain.

Pain. Gone. Pain. Gone.

The pain was gone.

Cur awoke from his dreamless sleep, feeling nothing. Not cold nor heat, the pain was gone. The pain he had become accustomed to, the pain that was so familiar, the pain that had become his friend and only ally, the reason he woke, the reason he slept. His constant companion reminding him that there was still life in him. Still love, somewhere buried deep down under all the pain, all the scars, the broken bones and blood.

But it was gone.

“Awake, marvelous” a voice above him cooed, and as he spoke the sound of metal implements jossling excitedly could be heard just out of sight. “So this is the one that made Ogma the silver tongued so pretty” The voice laughed mockingly “And shortened that silver tongue no less”.

There was a silence, the sound of a blade scraping against metal. Cur opened his eyes but could only look up and all he saw was a cold flat stone. The room was dark, it was night time perhaps. He could feel a slight chill coming from a crack or window.

“You came to kill me, did my father send you?”

Cur strained and grunted as he felt his bonds tightened at his wrists and ankles and neck. His wrists.

A strange feeling, a phantom hand reaching out for nothing. He cast his gaze down and to his confused horror an arm of flesh and bone replaced what once was silver and filled with pain. He felt dreamlike and painless and almost giddy.

“What did that whore give me?”

“She tried to kill you but it seems death has no sway, it doesn’t want you. And that whore is my sister”.

“Then you are already dead” Cur cackled. His booming laugh filling the dark low ceilinged dungeon.

“I’ve had some time to examine this weapon of yours.” He said as he walked around the table Cur was strapped to. In his hands he held the silver arm, a small lantern dangled from his hip and was the only source of light.

Cur strained to follow his path with his fierce feral stare, like a caged animal waiting for moment to strike. The walls were damp, almost dripping, stained red with rust or blood and he could see the tuathan’s breath hanging in the air. The barbarian saw out of the corner of his eye a table next to his head full of bladed tools and implements. He could feel air but from his limited vantage could see no windows.

“Funny isn’t it? That I would use the technique I planned to use on Nuada on the very man that took his arm and his throne and started all of this.”

“I also took his head” Cur laughed wickedly.

Miach swallowed that bitterly but tried to hide his disgust. He regarded the arm clinically as one might a piece of art or some kind of experimental device. “Still it is rather elegant” He looked at the giant laid out on the operating table “Far too elegant for something like you”

Cur strained against his bonds but his new arm was atrophied, it was weak and had little feeling in it.

“I think I’ll keep it, as a trophy” Miach said as his footsteps echoed out of the dark dingy room taking the only light source with him. Leaving Cur alone to painless black slumber.

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/15

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Cur part 2 Chapter 10 ‘The creature doomed to live’

Yay I didn’t kill myself haha. And Corona didn’t get me haha. And I have content yay.

I didn’t post anything last week but poems and stuff because I was just working on this, still kind of slow going but it’s good stuff, and it’s getting quicker. I feel good oddly. It only took the end of the world to make me feel like I was making headway haha.

But I’m actually a whole chapter ahead now, I feel a little reinvigorated, like maybe I might die with a smile on my face after all. I dunno, it’s too soon to tell but I think after this whole apocalypse thing is over my life might actually start making sense. Because lord knows it has not for some time now haha.

A body shouldn’t be this happy when all this badness is going on but I never claimed to be normal or sane and I have utterly no control over my emotions. I just feel happier and more blessed right now than I’ve ever felt in my whole fucking life.

And that’s all I’m willing to say about in case I jinx it haha.

See you…

–

The veil of night was lifting, a ghostly quietus fell at the mouth of the river Boyne. A rustling of the hazel trees sent shock waves into the quivering still born dawn. A woman, beautiful, her naked skin white as alabaster, her hair a dark earthy autumn hazel, like the trees that birthed the river.

She walked into the river slowly, she walked until the water was up to her ankles, her hips, her chest and until she was gone.

“Princess! Princess!” A whispered voice said. “He means to start without you! You must awake”

“Airmed, is that you?” Ernmas said groggily.

“Yes Princess, you have to hurry, I couldn’t stop stall him any longer.”

“But the sun is not even risen”

“Miach cares not for the position of the sun m’lady, only his own vainglory!” Airmed caught herself “I shouldn’t say that about my own brother I know but he is a fool and his eagerness will land us all in Bres’ keep one day.” The more fulsome maid helped the delicate Princess out of her borrowed bed. And into a robe more befitting witnessing the unveiling of the unknown. “Come now, we have little time to jabber.”

“Alright” Ernmas said faintly as Airmed lead her out of her room and into the strange hallway it felt like she was in only moments ago in the dead of night. She had hoped it would seem like a dream now but it was fresh in her mind. A part of her dreaded what she might witness at the top of that spiral staircase in the lab of Airmed’s brother Miach, son of Dian Cecht.

In her waking stupor lead by Airmed, it seemed like she closed her eyes and opened them once more in that fetid observatory that Miach had made his lab.

It was no different from the first she had laid eyes on it, the complete disarray that struck it was the chaos of a busy mind far beyond her own. But there too was an uncomfortable disquiet that hung in the air. As if a rot was nestled away in some darkened corner not yet to make itself known.

Ogma was there already, stern and solemn but also sad. He unfolded his large arms as the princes entered and made a slight bow. But said nothing and only stared at the centre of the room, where Miach tittered like an excited child.

Miach was lost in his own thoughts mumbling something to himself as he tinkered with unseen hands. Failing to notice or not caring when his sister and Ernmas entered the observatory.

“Ah marvelous, you’re just in time” He said when he made the effort to acknowledge their existence.

“Just in time for what?” The princess asked softly.

“Behold” Miach said as he directed Ernmas to the tank in the centre of the room with the opaque milky liquid in it. “We’re almost ready now, the solution has already been applied.”

“Solution?” Ernmas asked faintly.

“Yes” Miach said as he approached the stone table closest to the tank. One which had been cleared. He returned holding a strange pointed device made of glass and metal. The liquid contained within looked like water but shimmered with a dull putrescence of grey and blue as if it were petulant miasmal clouds. “My own creation, it uses the sacred waters that my father might have used during the great war but refined through my own processes.”

“And the-?”

“See for yourself” Miach smirked faintly as he directed her to the tank Ernmas was trying to avert her gaze from.

She approached it gingerly as if it were some kind of unpredictable beast or piteous retch. Slowly it came into focus. Beyond the milky liquid, pale bilferous limbs appeared, bobbing rhythmically in and out of the queer substance. As she reached the rim of the open top tank she could see it more clearly. The vaguest approximation of what was her father lay naked in the tank, it’s skin slick and squamous.

The body was motionless but for the slight undulating of the liquid. She looked at the face of her father and more closely at his neck as she could see that it was indeed the head she had brought with her. Attached by a means of some kind of metallic string. For a moment it was not Nuada’s face she saw floating in the liquid. But it was her own staring back at her with hideous stygian eyes that filled her with an unnameable terror.

It’s loathsome hand reached out and gripped her tightly by the wrist. The blasphemous thing pulled her closer to the tank. It’s hideous mouth opening filling her lungs with the foetid stench of death and decay. It uttered an accursed ullulating sound as foul black ichor poured from it’s mouth and filled the princess with darkness.

Read the rest on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/10

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Cur 2 Chapter 7 ‘Name written in water’

Hey all, gotta get through this quick because time is getting the best of me today, I really hope I get banned on facebook soon because procrastination is real and I get so much more done when I’m not on that fucking time sync website haha.

So another chapter out and I’m not gonna lie, this was hard to get out and it’s pretty short. I’m really struggling to get these chapters out recently, I can just barely do a chapter a week when before I could do like four or five. And I don’t even think the added time is adding to their quality. I just feel totally uninspired recently and I think a big part of that is yeah sure my constant failures to get any critical success or an agent to even give me the time of day. But moreover I’m not reading as much as I used to and I want to blame myself for that but I gotta say I haven’t felt engaged by any of the books I’ve been reading, maybe it’s me but The witcher series was dull as dishwater to me, The shadow got old fast and now Conan. The first couple of stories totally hooked me but the ones after are pretty much retreading with no real direction. There’s no timeline, it just seems to jump around with Conan fitting awkwardly into whatever story there is.

I feel like I’m not getting a good grip on the character and the world when every story just jumps around and doesn’t seem to go anywhere or ends abruptly. I just don’t feel encouraged to read it.

Honestly I used to hate reading as a kid because school would force me and I’ve pretty much always been the kind of asshole that wants to do pretty much the opposite of whatever he’s told. So even when we would do group reading in silence I wouldn’t even really read the books, I would just pretend to to spite the teacher while thinking of whatever I wanted haha.

And then we were reading stuff like Harry Potter which I don’t regret not reading at all. But I thought I wasn’t interested in reading until weirdly I don’t remember how this went but I had this girlfriend who loved reading and for some reason that made me want to do english lit in college despite having read maybe three books in my life, that might be an over estimation because I probably didn’t finish those books and they were probably factual ones about serial killers haha.

But my english teacher was the one who got me onto Raymond Chandler when we were doing a module about the great gatsby which I had to compare it to. And Raymond Chandler changed my mind about books entirely. I literally devoured the entire series of books. The story and characters and the action just blew my mind, it wasn’t some lame wizard shaking a stick at people. It was this grizzled p.i throwing punches and lead and it was awesome and I couldn’t wait to sit down and read it and have this mystery unravel before me.

And needless to say this goes double for the Parker series because Parker is Philip Marlowe on fucking red kryptonite haha. Instead of unravelling crimes, he’s planning and executing them.

So I really think I might just drop Conan and read the next Parker book, it’s just a shame because I was saving the Parker books and I will be heartbroken when I run out. I might just buy the comics and read them over.

Anyway, running out of day light for job searching, got one I think is promising but I can’t keep hoping, need to keep doing if I’m gonna be where I wanna be with the people I love.

See you…

–

Ernmas awakened on the riverbank, the moon hung bright and high in the sky, the sound of the night music was deafening. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped as she raised herself to look around like a lost fawn.

“Where am I?” She whispered to herself.

The water was still and cool and shone blue almost like a mirror.

All was serene and peaceful until out of the water a horse’s white head emerged. The horse crashed and splashed for it’s life furiously.

The horse was drowning and without a seconds thought Ernmas stepped into the icey cold water to save it’s life.

She tried to sooth it with her voice as she got closer, the horse slowed and calmed but still splashed and struggled to keep it’s head above the water.

Ernmas laid her hands upon it’s mane and attempted to pull at the horses neck. But her hands were stuck in place and trying to remove them was painful and burned. The horses eyes glared red and it bit into her shoulder and pulled her under the water.

Ernmas erupted from her dream fighting for air, the wall of sleep a miasmic sheet of icey water encasing her.

She fought for the air in her lungs but from the darkness came a soothing shushing sound and a soft warm hand on hers and on her face.

“Shh calm yourself, you were just having a bad dream that’s all” A young girls voice said.

“Who’s there?” Ernmas whispered softly.

A lamp was lit and a girl with red hair became visible in the dim light. Her face was freckled and slightly plain but the heat from the lamp ignited smells of wild pressed flowers. Her hair was curly and wild like cotton grass and she had a slightly upturned button nose like a doll with pricked pursed lips.

“Have no fear princess, I am Airmed, Miach’s sister” The girl smiled warmly. Her eyes were a deep hazeled green and her voice was soft but reassuring and without pretence.

“Oh hello-“ The princess said confusedly, still in a stupor from her dream.

“If you’re having trouble sleeping, I might have something for you.” Airmed said as she started to rise from the seat she’d taken at the side of Ernmas’s borrowed bed.

The bed itself was simple and elegant, fit for a noble or lord but certainly below the station of a princess.

“Oh no, please, no magic.” Ernmas said.

“Is no magic princess, it’s my own herbal remedy, will you come with me?” The girl said stretching out her hand.

Ernmas looked at the hand which looked soft but stained at the tips with green and under her nails there appeared to be soil and it gave off an earthy smell.

“Yes, and please call me Ernmas” She said as she took the girls hand.

In the hallway Ernmas suddenly felt a chill as though someone was watching her. Although the hall was dimly lit by the lamp light she could not miss the boy with almost platinum blonde hair. His bright golden eyes staring at her from the darkness of a doorway. The eyes stared at her impersonally almost like an animals.

Airmed tutted loudly and said “You should be in bed, away with you now!”

The boy scampered off into the darkness without a word or an expression on his pale little face.

“Who was that?” Ernmas asked.

“It is the wee lad Ruadan”

“Bres’s son?” Ernmas gasped.

“The same one.” She nodded.

“Won’t his father come for him, is it not dangerous to have him here?” Ernmas whispered.

“If Bres knew where he was I doubt we’d be having this conversation” Airmed smirked cockily lifting the lamp to illuminate the rest of the hall. “Besides all that, soon enough he’ll have bigger thing to worry about.” She said smiling and tilting her head in the direction of the end of the hall. “Come along, don’t fret I’ll have you tucked in bed in no time.”

In the daylight the guts of the castle were like a maze and in the gloom of the night it felt certainly like an endless dungeon. Or the bowels of some evil beast with the howl of the cold mountain wind outside lashing the castle walls trying to get in. Almost nothing stood out and the princess couldn’t hope to make it back to her room alone.

Airmed lead her down a tight corridor.

“I make my own herbal remedies here in the castle.” The girl said.

“How does anything grow on this mountain”

“Ah nature is a magic of it’s own and life can sustain the most harsh of climates. Some of the hardiest of plants can be found on the base of the mountain and some of the hardiest people too.”

“How often do you leave the castle?”

“Not that often, only when we need supplies, I trade for most of the essentials with the townsfolk below the mountain. My poultices and tonics can fetch a high price with the village folk.”

Airmed lead the princess through a large dark door opening it very slowly and quietly.

Ernmas tiptoed after her as she lead her through a small office.

The red haired girl tutted “He’s always doing this.” She whispered as she put her lamp down on an oak writing desk and picked up a blanket that was hung over a chair. She took it over to what Ernmas could now make out by the light was Miach himself, asleep at his desk, his face nestled between the pages of a book. Airmed covered Miach in the blanket and tutted again “He sleeps at a desk more often than he does in his own bed.” She paused to look at him sullenly while he slept before starting slightly as she remembered why she was here. “Oh yes the sleep solution” She whispered to herself as she picked the lantern back up.

Ernmas followed as Airmed lead her to a musty smelling cold store room with a stone floor.

She tutted again as she searched the high shelves “Where is it?”

Ernmas couldn’t see much in the room that was not illuminated by Airmed’s lamp. That aside she felt strangely drawn to a large glass container which seemed to emanate a ghostly warmth from it.

Although she could not fully see what it was, it was large and placing her hand on it it was cold to the touch but it gave off an energetic charge.

“Ah here it is” Airmed exclaimed. She turned back to try and find her charge in the gloom. Airmed shone her lamplight into the darkness to find Ernmas standing before the large tank now illuminated by her lamp light.

And inside the tank was what appeared to be the preserved dead body of a mutilated and deformed Nuada Airgetlám .

–

Check out the rest of the chapter right here.

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Cur Part 2 chapter 6 ‘The living word’

Yo,
Wanna get this out of the way quick because I’ve been currently reserving thursday for escaping my current state of wage slavery for a better state of wage slavery somewhere sunnier haha.
Or I might do some spamming but I’ve been blackpilled on that for a while now since I keep getting banned and spamming on gab or twitter or minds is basically a waste of time. And even spamming on facebook maybe five people see it unless you throw some money behind it and even then it’s just some fucking asshole telling me I need an editor for my raw manuscript, no fucking shit I need an editor. So fucking constructive, it’s why I hate writing groups. Most writers are assholes, myself included, they don’t want to help you, they want to stand on your face and make a slamdunk haha. Those groups are cancerous, full of bullshit political shit and crabs in a bucket that want to get together to justify their own mediocrity.
What I hate more than anything is those posts from like people who have an example of someone who succeeded or got famous in their like fifties or sixties and it’s usually someone you’ve never heard of haha. And they’re like ‘success has no age’ or some bullshit designed to make people who are younger and suck think that one day they’ll make it. It’s there to like ease tensions and make people think they have plenty of time, but in reality all it does is make people complacent. If you make people think they don’t have to chase their dreams right now they’ll put it off and they’ll keep putting off til it’s dead.
Like my brother is always telling me that there are actors who didn’t get famous until they were like forty, but the thing is they were putting in the work in their thirties while he does fuck all haha. It’s just something that he tells himself so he doesn’t need to do anything now but wait til the toothfairy drops it in his lap haha.
I’m not giving up my dream but I guess I’m kicking it down the road because right now seeing my daughter is more important, it’s the only thing. What’s the point of succeeding if I can’t be with her?
So I am going to find a job in barbados and I am going to be with her and I’ll work out the writing part later, because I do have my whole life to do that but every day I lose those precious moments with her and that’s something I can never get back.
Besides my inspiration is in the toilet lately without her and her mother. Everything I write just seems shitty and lifeless lately and it’s because I need to get real and get the fuck out of here. I need stability, I need a real job and I need to be with my daughter and I can work the other stuff out later.
And I know I’m selfish and autistic and I’ll hate working so hard and wish I was at home playing videogames all day but I’ll tell myself that I’m doing it for selfish reason, that being with her and being there brings me more joy… and I can still play videogames occasionally haha.
Ok shit, I need to stop talking about this and actually makes some waves to make it happen. Kinda got all my hopes wrapped up in this perfect hotel job which I’m perfect for, it’s basically the same job I do here but not in hell four thousand miles away from my baby. But I need to find more to apply to, I can’t keep putting all my eggs in one basket.
K gotta jet.
See you…
–
The horses snorted, their breathe heavy and hanging in the cold air near the peak of the devil’s ladder.
Ogma climbed down from the coachman’s seat, he took some time to inspect the horses and tug at their bridles to make sure they were secure.
Once he was satisfied he trod the deep snow and stopped for a moment outside the door of the carriage before calling out. “My lady, we have arrived.”
Ogma then opened the carriage door and stepped back to kneel in the snow holding his hand aloft for princess Ernmas to take.
His hand was large and wrapped in a thick riding glove covered in filth, dried blood and snow. Noticing this he took it off and discarded it in the snow.
His hand was lithe but looked strong and nimble, she filled it with her smooth dainty hand the colour of milk, almost weightless. She made her way down from the carriage, carrying herself with regal nobility but with a slight smile that betrayed her sadness. Her eyes carrying the same wisdom as her fathers but also an innocence that bared hiding from the world.
Standing alone now she walked through the snow coming around the other side of the carriage.
Ogma reached into the carriage where sat a square package wrapped delicately. He retrieved it with the utmost care and lifting it gently with both hands and climbing down from the carriage as slow and gracefully as possible.
“I don’t see it.” She said softly.
Ogma went to her side, the package in his arms “Look closer my lady”
The princess turned and instantly looked at the package, a wave of regret and sadness passing over as she seemed to smile and sigh. “I’d almost forgotten about that” She said wistfully, melancholy hanging heavy on her delicate features. Turning back to the shape unfolding in front of her she narrowed her vision and slowly as the snow thick white wind abated she saw a contrast. A line forming around a white shape.
“I see it, it’s amazing, it must be some sort of sorcery.” She gasped with childlike wonder.
“Perhaps, an illusion, possibly the weather and a trick of the eye.” Ogma said.
Before them stood a castle naturally camoflouged by the weather. It seemed to be designed to do exactly that. The castle itself was low slung and seemed to follow the natural curve of the mountain plateau it rested on. The buildings jutting out unevenly to mimic the shape of a natural rock formation. The light colour of the stone and the snow making it seem almost invisible against the skyline. A narrow path towards the portcullis too was shielded by a thick embankment of trees and it snaked up the sheer face of the cliff at odd angles. A wall surrounding the castle seemed to melt into the snow covered trees. The castle itself rising only slightly higher than the wall but for one white spire which stood at it’s highest point.
“The spire, I bet he can see the whole valley from that point.”
“Most likely.” Ogma agreed.
She turned with a whimsical smile and said “This is the top of the devils ladder.”
“Yes my lady.”
“Well lets see if he’s in” She smiled.
–
Cur’s laughter echoed through the hall. The room was vaste, the ceilings seemed higher than was possible due to the squat nature of the castle. The hall was stark, naked of any furnishing but for one cyclopean door cast in bronze and gold with a carving of a giant evil eye on it. Cur’s laughter abated as he looked around the oversized room. The floors and walls seemed to be slicked with some strange viscous substance and there was an odd smell. The walls and floors bore deep scratches not made by any man. The smell, it was faint but it was familiar, blood and something else much worse.
“Is this Balor shaking, does he fear me?” Cur croaked grinning.
“Balor fears no man” The strange voice under the veil said.
“Then he can show himself to me” Cur laughed staring at the strange gaunt figure in the mask.
“You will see my face, although I have many.” A child’s voice said.
The robed woman and the man in the mask stepped to aside and in their place stood a small redheaded boy wearing a long green tunic made of spun silk. The face of the boy child was pale and freckled but the eyes and the expression were that of a man certainly. The eyes shining an evil purple, their glare seeming to pierce through Cur. The childs smile presented as innocence but betrayed a deep malevolence as he surveyed the barbarian coldly. As if he were a bull being readied for gelding.
“Does this face please you firbolg?” The child smiled but there was something unnatural about it, it was just a little too wide and the way his face moved didn’t move as skin and bone should. The movement was almost akin to how an eel or a snakes flesh moved. His face moved as if it had no bones at all. “Perhaps you’re wondering why I had you brought before me, but I suspect you already know.”
Cur began to laugh morbidly, his eyes wide and mad.
The boy smirked once more with his ghoulish unnatural face, pale and bonny the mask covering ancient horror. “I have heard tale that you are undead and cannot be killed by mortal weapon.” The boy smirked and walked closer to the barbarian. “My eye is no mortal weapon, tomorrow morning at sun rise you will feels its power and be but ash.” The boy smiled.
Cur laughed again.
“I have been tasked as your executioner, a job in which I relish and comes with it a certain poetry” The boy smiled wickedly. “As it was I that dealt the final blow to the clan firbolg.”
–
Princess Ernmas lifted her cloak almost up over her knees and began to trudge eagerly through the snow. Slowly working her way up the snaking path lined by snow covered rowan trees.
“Wait my lady, allow me to lead the way!” Ogma shouted after her trudging the deep snow along the path, his words blown away by the terrible biting mountain wind.
Nevertheless he returned to his charge’s side within the maze. Under the chin of the overgrown rowan trees that loomed over the path, almost blotting out the sky over head. On the other hand they also shielded them from the terrible winds sweeping up the mountain.
–
If you want to read the rest of this chapter head on over to Inkitt
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Cur 2 Chapter 5 ‘The devils ladder’

Shit, fucking facebook, I’ve literally just been shitposting all day and forgot to even post this haha.

And now I have nothing to talk about.

Welp, enjoy the chapter haha.

This is not true, I was looking for a new job still.

But I hope you enjoyed the poem yesterday, by all the likes I’m guessing people did, I was just listening to that song the other day and it stirred up something inside of me and I had to make it my own, just a little bit.

This chapter is the start of part two and it’s kind of the start of a subnarrative, and sort of the theme for the whole book. If the last book was about death, this book is about rebirth and the pains associated I guess.

Anyway, enjoy the rest of your day.

See you…

–

“I say if you cross the devils ladder you must pay the devil!” A voice carried over the howling of the cold wind coming down the mountain.

 

The carriage halted it’s horses, the carriage driver was a large broad man wrapped up tightly. He got down from coachman’s seat to see what the ruckus was about.

 

The coachman cautiously scanned the snowy trail that passed through the rocky cliffs. The trail lead up the Carrauntoohil mountains known colloquially as ‘the devils ladder’. There was nary a soul to be seen. Only the rocky crags dusted with fine snow and the cold wind blowing in the coachman’s face. He wrapped his face tighter and climbed back up onto into the drivers seat and mushed the horses to continue up the trail. They whined bitterly and the coach creaked as it climbed the steepening trail.

 

“That is I, I am the devil!” A voice called out and then a man appeared as if from nowhere. The snow and the wind made it hard to see but the man had been laying in wait behind a large rocky outcropping. The hiding spot has blended into the rest of the mountain under the snow.

 

The coachman pulled his face covering down to gawp at the strange man.

 

“Be done with this foolishness and get out of my way!” The coachman called out.

 

“I will get out of your way” The man said. He was of average height but had a long bedgraggled beard and wild eyes rubbed red raw. The man just stood there but as he did more of his ilk came out of their hiding place behind the outcropping and joined at his side. They were savage looking carrying scythes and pitch forks and large butcher’s knives and woodcutters axes as weapons. “As soon as you give us all that you carry and then a little more.” The wild man said wide eyed

 

“Highwaymen then?” The coachman shouted over the roar of the wind.

 

“Call us what you like but you will not leave Carrauntoohil alive this day unless you give us whats in that carriage.” The highwayman said gesturing with a large rusty butchers knife.

 

The coach driver looked back thoughtfully at his carriage and then turning back to the highwayman he said. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, this day or any other.”

 

The highwayman laughed and wiped frost from his large unkempt beard. “You speak such honeyed words for a coachman, perhaps we will cut out your silver tongue and fashion a necklace from it.” The wildman chuckled with his shaggy cohorts.

 

The coachman seemed to slump in his seat exhaling deeply. Not from fear or doubt but instead a profound resignation that washed over him. Again the coachman climbed down from the carriage and landed heavy footed in the snow in the shadow of mount Carrauntoohil.

 

“You may take whatever you want after you kill me.” The coach man said as he drew an iron warclub from his belt. “But not before.”

 

The bearded man laughed and nodded “But not before, you are a brave one.” He looked eitherside of himself and said to his cohorts “Kill him!”

 

The bandits were a disorganized rabble and their attack was that of desperate fury. They leapt into battle as if the coachman were the cold and the wind and their empty bellies personified. Their feet crunching the snow as they charged.

 

The coachman did not flee their shouts, he stood his ground and waited his distance. They fought without formation or strategy, relying on numbers, surprise and brute force.

 

But none of these factors phased the coachman. The first bandit came at him with a pitch fork. He expected them to be cowards and encircle him and strike at his back but the hunger in their eyes betrayed their savagery. They were thin and starved and cold, their desperation had turned them into little more than wolves. They struck out as dying men struck out at the living, mindlessly and with unrelenting ferocity.

 

But they were slow and weak and the coachman was neither, he caught the head of the pitchfork and twisted it away from his body. The wooden shaft of it was so damp from the snow and the cold it snapped off in his hand. Not to break off his attack the bandit attempted to skewer the coachman with broken haft.

 

The coachmen’s strike was a perfect measured brutality, in stark contrast to their own. He struck the bandit with military precision to the side of his head to soften his skull. Then he struck it again in the same place to completely obliterate it. The blow sending shards of skull and brain matter at the other bandits.

 

Something that would have deterred other men, but not hungry wolves. They kept coming, spurred on by the steady roar of their bellies.

 

“I have no desire to kill you all, but mark my words, I will do so!” He was tall and stood firm like the mountains and the cold winds rushed through his words but they were too far gone to hear it.

 

They kept coming like an avalanche of pure need striking at him with tattered old scythes covered in rust. Axes with burred handles and knives that were as blunt as spoons. They did not stop, but neither did the coachman. He struck them down one after another with the cool clinical disinterest of a butcher slaughtering lambs until but one remained.

 

A woman with a kitchen knife roaring like an evil spirit leapt at the coachman and for a moment he hesitated and he could not parry the blow. The knife struck home tearing through the layers of raggedy clothing revealing a thick plate and chainmail armor. The tip of the knife shattered on contact. But the woman, undeterred by this and driven by pure madness aimed to cut the coachman’s throat. Something he could not allow.

 

He struck the woman with an upward blow killing her instantly, blood erupting from her mouth as she toppled into the snow.

 

The coachman looked down at her as she seemed to shrink into the snow, pink with her blood.

 

“Forgive me, by my honor I cannot allow you to have what I carry.”

 

The man with the beard was the last one left alive.

 

“What have you devil? Should I spare your life?” The coachman called out as he approached the highwayman.

 

“Nay sir” He highwayman said dropping to his knees in the snow surrounded by the bloodied bodies of his kinfolk. “I will join my village” He smiled, his red eyes seemed almost relieved looking up at the coachman. “And you, I hope to see you one day kind sir, in Mag Mell.”

 

“As you wish” The coachman said his voice ringing with a tone of resignation.

 

He killed the man with one blow to his head. There was very little blood. The man slumped to his side and fell to sleep as the snow started once more, covering him and his comrades in a blanket of fine white sleet.

 

The scene was maudlin and the coachman felt cursed to be standing in this graveyard of his making. He wished bitterly that it could have been different. He cursed himself as he cleaned his iron cudgel with a handkerchief as he made his way back to his coach.

 

–

Check out the rest of the chapter here.

0

Cur 2 Chapter 4 ‘Pleasant shadow song’

Hey there folks and folkettes,
Kinda got side tracked today so I’m literally going to end this blog at the end of this sentence haha.
Nah not really but time sort of evaded me today and I just managed to get this done satisfactorily. I never just proofread, I always go over it and try to improve every aspect. Fresh eyes really are magic for writing.
Ok seriously gotta go, my time is up, I’ll have to whine about how the new mary poppins ruined my childhood like the big manbaby I am next week haha. So look forward to that haha.
See you…
–
 
The waves broke on the gnarled rocks below the tower of Tory island.
 
A cyclopean glass tower that looked down on Inish Veil. The tower cut through the grey clouds, piercing them like a shining arrow of ice. It spiraled into the heavens but stood alone. Stretching out below it, wallowing in the mist of Tory isle was a grand dark fortress that seemed centuries older than the shining tower. It sat like a squat toad on the jagged rocks of Tory isle and seemed to menace the sea and the sky alike in its ugly brutal aspect. For its construction was not common to the region and could not be recognized as either Firbolg nor Tuatha. It was an imposing black structure made of giant sea smoothed megaliths that no man could move and there was no way to know how deep into the earth they sat.
 
Inside the glass tower a maiden hummed to herself as there was no one else to hum to. She sat on the edge of her grand gilted bed decorated with jade cut stone and stared out of the window of her room at the very top of the tower. Her humming then turning to song to comfort her profound loneliness. Her voice sweet and melodic but with a sadness that hung in the damp salty air.
 
“In a time of myth and magic,
 
lived a man of timeless power,
 
Lir was his name,
 
but his temper had turned sour.
 
He would not be king of the land,
 
Bov Dearg was chosen instead.
 
Lir would pay no tribute to him,
 
And secretly wished he was dead.
 
A sound outside bid her to stand and move over to the window and look out down below at the bay. A boat was making port. Many of her kin were departing but with them was the shape of a woman she assumed was the seer Birog. There was another much larger they dragged behind them on ropes. Keeping as much slack as possible as if it were some kind of savage animal, they feared wake.
 
“Alas with time Lir’s wife did lie,
 
and he was full of great sadness,
 
Dearg heard this and sent word to Lir,
 
to meet with him in his palace.
 
When they met they both embraced,
 
Their friendship was made then.
 
Dearg summoned his daughter eve,
 
And told Lir he must marry again,”
 
As she watched them pull the huge beast up from the shore. She stopped her singing as the maiden felt a strange tingling in her chest and after a moment she realised it was her heart beating faster.
 
–
 
“Tuan Mac Cairill at your service” The strange red headed man said as he put out his hand cordially.
 
The fisherman stared at the strangers hand and then at his strange smiling face. “Aye well you can do me a service and tell me what did ye do with me dog?!” The fisherman shouted at the unusual red headed man.
 
The man shifted in his seat and gave an unconvincing grin. He was tall compared to a tuathan and lithe and had the long tapered fingers of a thief. A quaffed head of red hair like a foxes tail and an unusual face with features uncommon to the region dotted with freckles. He wore a green tunic and trousers which appeared to be no material the fisherman had ever seen before. They took on the texture almost of an animals fur or a fish’s scale.
 
“Speak damn you! If you can speak!”
 
The strange man sighed “Well I am your dog, or I was your dog, well I technically still am or I never was…”
 
“Is it a curse that makes you talk such rot or are ye just touched in the heed?”
 
“It’s a long story” the strange man smiled.
 
The fisher let go of the hilt of his sword assured that the stranger meant him no harm. “Aye well you’re in my house.” He picked up a stool next to the horse and sat at the table adjacent the stranger. “I’m not going anywhere and I love a good story” He said as he plodded himself down hard on the small stool with his hands on his knees and a stern look in his eyes. “Well go on then”.
 
“I needed your aid-“
 
“Finding that ‘slayer of Slaghtaverty?’”
 
The strange man sighed “Not everything a bard sings is true.”
 
“So he didn’t murder the children of Slaghtaverty?”
 
“He did that truly but take my word, as I am a man now from whence I was a dog, they were not children when he slew them.”
 
“Then what were they?” The fisherman sitting up straight to scoff and raise his bushy eyebrows.
 
“I don’t know, something else entirely, but I assure you if he had not slew them the village of Slaghtaverty would be a memory only recalled in bards song.” The man said as he narrowed his eyes.
 
“Why did you need my help, you’re some kind of a druid obviously.” The fisherman sat up and folded his arms alternating between gesturing and scratching his neck. “Why didn’t you just change yourself into a fish and pull him out yourself. And what were ya doing out there in the first place how does a boat sink that close to shore?” He mused.
 
“We didn’t sink, we were sunk, heading to Tory isle.” The strange man sighed and for a moment his eyes darted around the room and he looked furtive. “I- I have a problem with turning into sea creatures. A bad experience or two, I’d rather not speak on it.”
 
“So you were on it when it sank?” The fisherman mused scratching under his chin in amazement.
 
“That’s how I knew where it was, vaguely. I was the only one who escaped, I had no choice but to change into a bird and fly away.”
 
“So you left them there to die.” The fisherman said in a hushed town as if it was shameful to even say.
 
“I had no choice, they unleashed some sort of creature, it tore the ship a part like kindling and pulled it down to the sea floor.” The man shook his head.
 
“So that’s why you needed me, let me get eaten by the sea monster- and while it chews on my gristled arse you and your one armed mate make a getaway.”
 
“I’d overheard you in the tavern, by the sounds of it you like tussling with a sea monster or two. It was unlikely they’d pay any attention to a fisherman a little further out from shore.” He sighed. “So I would just nudge you in the right direction. I wasn’t all that sure where it was but you had a keen eye for this sort of thing, it only took a year or two by my count.”
 
“How can you stand being a dog for a year?”
 
“My friend, I’ve been a dog for much longer, I spend more time in an animal form than I do this one. So long in fact I’ve forgotten my original form.” Tuan said wistfully.
 
“How is it a man can stay underwater that long and still live, is he like you?” The fisherman said looking down at the shack floor.
 
“He is cursed, we’re both the last of our race, we have that in common, but he and I are not the same. My reckoning is that every now and then when a race meets it’s end it’s been so that the gods allow one to live for whatever reason, to pass on knowledge or-“
 
“So what race is that and where do ye get this nonsense from?”
 
“He is Firbolg”
 
“I gathered from his size and temperament and the rumours swirling around his exploits in Slaghtaverty, but I meant you.” The fisherman said pointing a round weathered finger.
 
“Another time perhaps” Tuan smiled.
 
“Why set sail to Tory isle in the first place?”
 
“We’d heard Bres was moving food and resources there so we assumed it was where he fled to.”
 
“So what are you going to do now, go back to licking your own balls for another few years?”
 
“I need to get to Tory isle and you’re going to help me”
 
“And why would I do a thing like that for a trickster and liar like yourself?” The fisherman said.
 
“To claim your prize”
 
“Bah! it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He said waving away the treasure in the his mind.
 
“There must be other riches on Tory isle, untold wealth, a thief like myself could secure you a plentiful sum and all you’d need do is tell me how to get there.” Tuan smirked as he leaned forward.
 
“Surely you’ve flown over the isle as a bird, why do you need my help?” The fisherman said over folded arms.
 
Tuan sighed and looked over the table as eh spoke flipping a fishing spool between his fingers. “I have done as you’ve said but the island is completely baron of life, I can only assume magic is the cause of this.”
 
“So it is as the rumours say”. The fisherman stroked his bearded chin and spoke softly as if to himself.
 
Tuan looked the fisherman in his eyes and said “Tell me of Balor of the baleful eye”.
 
–
Check out the rest of this chapter over on Inkitt.
0

Kur 2 Chapter 3 ‘Red fox’

And a good day to you sirs and sirettes,
Kind of in a good mood today for some weird reasons. Could be the green smoothie in my hand but probably not. No I’m trying to get a new job in a new country to be closer to the person who’s most important to me. Moreover I’m trying to make some sense out of my life.
I’m not abandoning writing but it sort of abandoned me, between facebook shutting me out giving me no real place to share my work and literary agents not even replying to the majority of my emails. I feel like my work not only can’t stand out but I myself am not desirable to literary agents not being some kind of persecuted group.
I’m not going to stop writing but I’m going to stop looking at it as my only option and my only chance at fulfilment isolating myself further. It’s just a downward spiral that leads to loneliness and suicide. I’m just
I think if I can get a new job in a new place I can have a fresh start and it wont feel like inane drudgery if I can be with the ones I love in a place I love with the money to enjoy life and I can enjoy writing more as a hobby instead of a job.
And then maybe one day when the world changes or a less left leaning publisher actually emails me the fuck back I can move on with my work. Literally I feel like a leper, no one returns my emails anymore. I feel like I’m living on a space station.
Anyway I have a good feeling about this job, I have loads of experience for it, it’s just the matter of whether they want to support me with work permits and all that stuff. But even if they don’t I can keep looking and maybe get a promotion in my current job and my cv pop a little more, I dunno.
So yeah, I think I’m gonna keep job hunting today, but I’m really hoping I get the one I just applied for, that would be a dream come true, just to get out of this joke of a country. I think that’s a step in the right direction. 
This chapter as you can probably tell is me trying to subtly ease you into a massive exposition dump haha. Something I pride myself on, I am the ultimate luber of exposition dumps haha. I will make you swallow that big pill of information with a spoonful of sugar. No seriously though I think that is one of my strengths, exposition is one of those things you can’t get around sometimes and I see it done so badly in a lot of stuff even in Conan there are big exposition dumps that are really out of place and pointless. I try my best to see them and break them up and deliver them in a way that doesn’t feel like a slog. So I hope you get that and it doesn’t seem to heavy, trying to show not tell but it’s really hard to avoid that sometimes.
I hope you enjoy it and the rest of your day.
See you…
–
The sound of waves crashing, heavy limbs, rain beating, the spray of the sea. Suddenly the room is the deck of a ship and the sea is churning it, tearing it apart like it was made of kindling, the sound it sets teeth to chattering. The terrible sound rivalled only by the sounds of the screams. An unnameable shapeless mass rears up from beneath the black waves. With one stroke of it’s barbed tendril snaps the mast and pulls the ship into black oblivion.
“Wake up Firbolg, you’ve been sleeping too long – Inish Alga needs you.” A honeyed familiar voice said, the smell of blackberries, the touch of soft skin.
“That old name, – no one and nothing needs me for anything but shedding blood”
“Then so be it” The woman said. “Awaken Firbolg, embrace your destiny.”
“Destiny? Tailtui?”
The Firbolg opened in his eyes in who knows how long, his vision was blurred and he saw a blackened shape hovering over him.
A delicate white hand reached out to him and without thought he snatched it and pulled the figure closer.
“Who are you?” Cur snarled putting emphasis on each word.
The woman yanked her hand from his grasp and Cur grinned as she recoiled in shock. Her hood falling back off her head revealing a young elven girl with raven hair and pale skin.
Cur laughed, bearing his teeth and boiling off into a low cackle.
“The spurned druidess” He laughed falling back into the makeshift bed the fisherman had fashioned for him. The bed consisting of furs and old fish nets.
The girl that stood before him twisted her pretty white face and took a deep breath tucking her dark hair behind her pointed ears. She finally spoke. “It is I, the little Druidess, here to save your miserable life yet again” Birog hissed.
“How did you know I was here?” The firbolg asked.
“I saw it in a dream” Birog said.
Cur grinned and laughed that mocking laugh.
The dog bounded towards Cur sticking his snout too close for his liking, the Firbolg pushed the dogs snout away. “Away beast”
The dog whimpered.
Cur stared at the fisherman and asked “Who rules Inish Alga?” in his low croaking voice almost as if it was rhetorical or a threat.
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time” Manannan said puzzled. “Oh, still it is Bres but no one has seen him for a long time, ever since the rituals on samhain began.”
Cur looked at the Druiddess and she sighed deeply.
“Every year” She said. “Every year they take two thirds of the corn and the milk-.”
“And the children” Cur finished her sentence stonily.
“Yes” She seemed to shiver as she said it, clutching her arms around herself. “Ever since Bres went into hiding we have returned to the taxes our ancestors suffered under the Fomorians.”
She continued slowly, breathing deeply as if it pained her to say it. “Every year, the children are lead to the hill of Tara and taken down into the catacombs and never seen again.”
“It is punishment” Cur said.
“There is a new king, same as the old king- a shadow ruler, he rules but nobody knows it, he’s ruled all this time using Bres as his puppet. The power behind the throne, the unseen hand.”
“What is his name?” Cur croaked.
“He is called Balor of the baleful eye, a powerful king of the Fomor.”
“Preposterous, the Fomor are a myth” Manannan who had been leaning quietly with his arms folded against the wall of his shack suddenly chipped in. “A story to keep children from swimming in deep waters, like the kelpie.” He scoffed.
“Is that right?” Birog smirked. “They are here and they have always been here and now finally they dane to show themselves in this new tax.” She hummed to herself for a moment and walked over the silver arm that was resting on Manannan’s table.
Manannan reached for his prize instinctively. “Now wait a minute, I found that, it’s mine!” He protested.
“This doesn’t belong to you” She said then turning to Cur “It doesn’t belong to either of you”
Cur grinned broadly “The previous owner has no further use for it” He chuckled in his deep scarred voice.
“Can you stand?” Birog prodded.
Cur sneered and glanced at the fisherman and his dog before looking back at her. He pressed his one hand against the dirty wooden floor of the fisherman’s shack and rose slowly and stiffly to his feet.
He stood with some difficulty at his full height towering above both elves. He moved as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs.
Manannan sighed seeing his difficulty “Take this ya bloody fool” He said as he handed him a stick.
Cur glared at the fisherman and reluctantly took the stick and put it under his arm to take his weight.
Birog smiled as she regarded him, running her fingers along the intricate lines of the silver arm with it’s strange magical symbols.
“Walk with me Firbolg” She smiled and walked out the door of the small scruffy fishing shack.
Cur followed his silver appendage, limping like a cripple but still with a vicious quickness to his step. His footfalls hard and angry as if he hated the ground he walked on for betraying him.
He pushed the door open.
“We meet again ‘slayer of Slaghtaverty’” Said a familiar and sickly mocking voice.
The voice came from a strange robed figure. On eitherside of him were similar non-descript and ominous comrades holding long and queer barbed weapons. The smell of seaspray and rotten fish and seaweed rose above them like a dense fog.
“Perhaps you prefer ‘Slaughterer of Slaghtaverty’, I myself think ‘slayer’ rolls off the tongue. You don’t recognize me?” The one in the centre said as he took back his hood revealing a cocky but bonnie young man, grinning with sharp barbed teeth. “Perhaps you recognize this” He said as he held up a weird and familiar sword. He smiled and tapped the edge, the sound it made was painful to the ears a singing in an esoteric and guttural language that Cur had heard before.
“Tethra!” Cur spat as he felt his scar burning with the magic of the sword.
“So your memory didn’t suffer as the crabs fed on you” He laughed.
“Who are you, get off my property!” Manannan followed after shouting at the strange oddly shaped robed figures.
“Silence! Who is this peasant?” Tethra asked turning back beyond the curtain of robed figures.
“He is no one my lord” Birog said as she passed through the crowd, the silver arm resting in the crux of her arm like a lamb being carried to slaughter. “He is of no consequence.”
“Very well” he said turning back, the corners of his mouth turning up like a snake’s to smirk at the firbolg. “You will come with us Firbolg or we will flay your friend where he stands.”
Cur looked at Manannan and grinned broadly. Manannan’s blood froze in his veins as he felt he had just sired a scorpion on his back.
Cur laughed, a wicked cackling laugh and he said. “Do whatever pleases you – ‘my lord’” He said as he dropped the grin from his and stared stonily at the traitor Druiddess.
“He is weak” Birog stated with a cold shrill glee in her voice. “He can barely stand and without this” She said stroking the strange silver arm “He cannot hope to escape.”
“King Balor wishes an audience with you last of the Firbolg, will you deny him?” Tethra said sharply with an indignant tone to his voice.
“If you knew he was here why didn’t you take him while he slept?” Manannan asked.
Birog grinned and said “I wanted to see the look on his face.”
“I will meet your king” The firbolg croaked and grinned wickedly.
–
Read the rest of this chapter on Inkitt.
0

Cur Lord of Light Chapter 2 ‘In the pines’

Hey, 

Don’t have much to go off today but here’s the latest chapter, it’s slow going honestly, I’m not as focused as I was before. I dunno I think my writing at one point was getting better but now I sort of think it’s getting worse haha. Not worse, just lazier I guess. 

I was reading Conan last night and the story was sort of garbage, Conan goes to steal a thing finds ancient aliens and then the tower falls down the end but it had a lot of flair and it was fun and the description isn’t over the top a lot of it just plot but you get a good feel like you’re really there seeing what he’s seeing and I’m not sure you get that from what I’m writing.

But you know, I hope it’s fun at least, there’s some action in this chapter, after the sort of slow start, this new character who I sort of borrowed from Arthurian legend is a lot of fun, I just had to steal him. He’s one of these characters like Cur that takes on several mantles because in these mythological stories there’s a limit to how much stuff a certain character can do. This wasn’t marvel where you have a billion writers taking one character and stretching them across a million books of total nonsense where they fight alongside the jackson five or whatever. Total bullshit where comics are basically fanfiction where spiderman is a transgender midget polynesian hemophiliac diaper fur with glocoma.

They’re more like real life where a person does one awesome thing their whole life and maybe not even that. So I sort of had to take Cur and make a plot by combining him with a few different characters because otherwise his story would have ended after the first battle. And I sort of created my own meta universe where he was supposed to die but he didn’t creating a new time line.

Anyway, that’s enough nonsense ranting, I promised myself I would try to find a new job today. I keep thinking about starting up a youtube channel but I just couldn’t do that, my autism wouldn’t allow it. I just don’t think it would do well and I want a real job where I can be around people a couple of hours a day. I know I hate people and my autism makes me want to lock myself away infinitely but I think I need to be around people every now and then just so I don’t forget how to talk haha.

See you…

 

–

South of Meenlaragh in Corveen bog the ruins of a small castle lay overgrown by the marsh. Creeping vines covered it like a fur coat as it seemed to sink into the murk.

The sun was slowly sinking into the bog, the light bluing with the strange mists that hovered over the peat and muck. The sounds of birds in the trees were thick and deafening in their splendour. But deep in the hold of the castle there was a stolen warmth and a cloaked merriment.

 

In the keep a small group of strangely dressed brigands sat around a broken feast table strewn with unappetizing foreign dishes. Fish heads in sea brine, boiled toad, all manner of eels and snakes from the bog writhed in states of death and half-life, insects too seemed to be on the menu.

 

The feast hall was small and decrepit and dark, only a few sconces were lit, others seemed to be long burnt out or ripped from the walls. All decorations and finery the castle once had were undoubtedly pilfered long ago. All that remained were tattered moth eaten tapestries and a few decorative weapons caked in decades of rust. All but one item seemed unloved and aged. On the wall behind the head of the table hung a decorative harp made of finely hewn wood and encrusted with beautiful shining gems. The carvings on the harp were intricate and spiralled all around the finely crafted instrument. Images engraven were that of various animals and a horned man sitting amongst them.

 

The brigands feasted under black hoods and armoured cloaks. Their hands were more clawlike than human shining dimly with what seemed like scales and other malformed oddities. Their mouths clacking as they ate as some lacked teeth while others had sharp thin shark teeth shining like daggers in the dim fire light.

 

Suddenly an odd noise tickled them as if it had been there all along under the sounds of their merriment but only now had they noticed it. A strange whistling like that of many birds singing together but not coming from outside.

 

The head of the table flipped his cloak and stretched out a scaled humanoid arm. At the end of it were fat toadlike fingers forming something almost like a fin, he held it up to silence the others at the table.

 

They froze and turned to a darkened corner which seemed to be the source of the strange bird noise. Then came the sound of clinking metal and shaking of chain.

 

Out of the darkness emerged a huge humanoid figure dressed in a green armour. He had a distinctive covered helmet of which large antlers that looked like tree branches grew out of the top. On his belt hung an ornate axe. It’s handle appeared to be simply a strong birch branch holding a piece of silvery metal which had raw edges. It shone like that of a stone that fell from the sky glinting like a diamond or a quartz in the sconce light. In his hand the knight carried a bow of holly and he whistled as he walked creating an unnerving sound as if thousands of birds filled the room.

 

“Who goes there?” The head of the table called out. A slender dark figure with a sly hushed voice.

 

“Fear not, child of the dark depths, I mean you no harm”

 

The head of the table was confused but sneered when he heard what the stranger called him. “How do you come to know us?” He questioned.

 

The knight bowed humbly “Forgive me sir, for I have watched you and your countenance speaks to foreign blood, not of this soil.”

 

“Our blood is older than this soil.” The host spat.

 

“That too I am aware of, therefore we are the same sir.” The strange green knight bowed again crossing the holly in front of his plated chest.

 

The head of the table was an alien figure, with bulbous black fishy eyes and glinting scaled skin and a wide mouth full of sharp tiny teeth. “Well then, come sit with us and tell us why you have come visitor.” The man grinned and then scowled at his underling who sat at his side. The underling was a squat creature with huge whiskered lips and wide slanted slits for eyes. He looked up at his master startled and then quickly vacated his seat and pulled it out for the knight.

 

The knight rose from his bow “Most hospitable of you.” The knight said as he slowly walked around the table. Passing the other inhuman malformed creatures that sat staring up at the stranger with their wide fish eyes.

 

The knight sat upon the chair and waited for his host to speak. Closer to the light of the table the knight’s armor was more apparent. An unusual set that shone an emerald green with gold inlays and patterns that seemed to replicate trees and roots forming spiral symbols.

 

“So what is it you seek stranger?”

 

“I would that you would know me that I would not be a considered a stranger. My name Bertilak de Hautdesert but you may know me as ‘Bredbeddle’ if you so wish.”

 

The host breathed heavily and spoke through his teeth “Goodly Bredbeddle, wouldst that you would tell me why you’ve come, that I would know you!”

 

“I find it odd you don’t remember me.” The knight chuckled “For am I not memorable?”

 

“Should I remember you, have we met before?” The strange head of the table asked.

 

“I am certain sir, we have met before, in this very room no less.” The knight gestured as he spoke, his armor clinking but displaying no weight as he moved. “Are you not the one they call Forgal the wily?”

 

“You must be mistaken, I’ve never heard that name before” The host said as he turned to one of his men and signalled for him to bring them more wine.

 

“One year ago today, we met in this room and struck a bargain.”

 

“I recall no such bargain, what does this pertain to?” The host asked.

 

“But you will admit that you are Forgal the wily?” The knight turned his head up and pointed over his hosts head without raising his elbow. “For you have the harp he took from me”.

 

“Are you calling me a thief?”

 

“Nay sir, I am calling you the possessor of my harp and one year ago today we struck a bargain.”

 

“What of this nonsense, what bargain?”

 

“The bargain made here that I would let you strike me and one year after I would return the strike and reclaim the harp.”

 

“I tire of this foolishness” The host waved his hand and instantly out of the dark came a curved long blade and cut the knights head from his shoulders.

 

The helmet with the head fell on the table and knocked over a bowl of live crickets.

 

The group of brigands erupted into triumphant laughter, all conspiring in whispers as to whom would claim his armor and weapon.

 

“Fool!” The host spat. “Forgal the wily recognises no bargains made with the tuatha.”

 

“There is no need for name calling sir” A disembodied voice said.

 

The brigands instantly stopped their cavorting as the voice seemed to come from all around them. It seemed animal in aspect, as if the birds in the trees were forming words of their own.

 

The body of the knight had not fallen, still it sat upright in it’s seat and then without pretence it reached for it’s detached head. “I see that you have no desire to honour our agreement” The knight said as he stood and tucked his own head under his arm. “I bid you good day sir.” He said bowing with his head under the crook of his arm as he left the keep.

 

Forgal looking after him with his wide fishy mouth hanging open.

 

The brigands sat for a moment befuddled as if they’d been visited by a spirit or fallen to some drink that had given them all the same strange dreams.

 

Twilight was upon the bog and the world was still and grey.

 

The knight of green replaced his detached head on his shoulders and sighed.

 

“Come Daurdabla, apple-sweet murmurer!

 

Come, Coir-cethair-chuir, four-angled frame of harmony,

 

Come summer, come winter,

 

Out of the mouths of harps and bags and pipes!”

–

If you want to see what happens next, head on over to inkitt by clicking this link In the pines.

 

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Cur 2 Chapter 1 ‘Rise up dirty waters’

So here it is I guess.
As I said before I kinda wanted to go understated because I could, I wanted to play it slow. I went hard in the first chapter of the first book because you really need to do that, and it was sort of to pay homage to berserk and the parts of the witcher I like. Sort of my interpretation of that iconic bar fight scene where Guts cuts a mofo clean in half with one strike. 
You think I feel bad about that? Not really, it was probably ripped off of Conan first, I just haven’t read that far. But I am reading it and it’s way more interesting than the Shadow even though the stories are so much more simple and really the whole thing is plot. You just get a story and it’s like ‘Conan wants to steal thing’ so he does that and even though it’s just that simple it really works because it’s just well written and fun and you want to see what happens and how does it.
I was listening to a podcast comparing Howard to Tolkien, and how they were sort of around the same time but Tolkien was bigger because he had all this lore and he invented his own language and Howard seems to be inventing it on the fly, it only has as much lore as it needs. 
I don’t really know about that because the first chapter of Conan the Cimmerian is literally all lore dating back centuries of all the different peoples leading up to the present with Conan and it was just so long that I was just like ‘fuck this’. I mean do I need to know the entire history of this fictional land to enjoy this? Is there going to be a test on this? I don’t even know most of my own history and I’m fine with that.
And it gave me the natural ‘fuck me’ sweats like ‘what if my story doesn’t have enough lore?’ I mean what more can there be? I’m adapting actual Celtic mythology and this story is sort of the dawn of the lore of their myths. The conflict between the tuatha de and the firbolg and the fomorians is the basis of their folklore and then obviously there’s more to come after.
But there’s literally only a few people that come before them and they’re all wiped out essentially so I’ve set my story at the dawn of their myths, there can be no lore because this is it. There’s nothing before this. I mean there is but it’s not lore, it’s a mystery to be uncovered in the last book.
One question that is never answered in the folklore is the origin of the Fomorians and that is a question I endeavor to answer with these books. That’s sort of the crux of the entire series, giving this mysterious race the fomorians an origin that fits with the christian historicity the stories are rooted in.
If you want a lesson on the folklore, I suggest googling it because I compiled like eighty pages of note on it and I can’t be bothered to pull it up haha.
Ok so I did the glass review and I talked about this. I liked it, building up a new character because Manannan is pretty important in the folklore he’s one of those connecting tissue characters, a little mystery a little reveal and in the next chapter I’ll be bringing back some of that bloody violent action for all that love that, me included haha.
See you and enjoy the chapter.
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A heavy foot fell sploshing a muddy puddle, thick like drying cold blood. The rainfall a monotonous droning metronome to the drumbeat of padding heavy feet. So torrential it was it almost drowned out the sound of the sea crashing and cresting behind the ragged figure. The man wrapped clung tightly to himself and trudged his way through the downpour up the hill.
 
The figure was tall and dressed in a long drab coat a mutt nipping at his sodden heals.
 
“Aye steady on boy” A booming voice said. “We’re almost home now”. The figure said with a covetous smile as he clutched a wrapped item to his breast. The figure’s eyes were furtive for a moment to gaze over the hill and back along the shoreline at his boat resting, slowly filling with rain. When he was sure he was alone he continued up the hill to a small fisherman shack on the edge of the cliff looking out at the sea. It was a lonely shack surrounded by empty hills and valleys and flat lands lain with wet grass. The greenest grass you’ve ever seen and below churned a grey frothy sea that leapt and lapped at the land.
 
The shack was tiny and isolated on the edge Meenlaragh, a small fishing village on the northern coast of Ulster. The shack itself seemed to be constructed from a portion of a large ships keel. The roof of which sloped on either side to make point coming together on top forming a shape almost like a bow. The wood was dark and weathered with barnacles clinging to the sides, all manner of nets and ropes hanging outside. The door was a simple barn door bolted with heavy rusted rivets of iron.
 
There was a warm glow coming from it and a horse whineying.
 
“I’m coming Enbarr, I’m home girl” The figure shouted.
 
The ragged figure opened the door quickly and bundled himself inside, the dog following after shaking off the rain. The man closed and bolted his door and hurriedly threw his coat off one arm at a time so as to not let the package out of his grasp.
 
The man was a large and ruddy common elf with a big bushy beard, red of cheek. He was of a middle age with a barrelled chest and round gut but he held a spryness of step and a child-like twinkle in his eye. His arms were ropey and strong with large gnarled sea beaten hands. His back was broad and sloped and he walked with a creaking sound in his knee and a slight limping hop as if he was accustomed more to swimming than walking.
 
The merry figure beamed and almost leapt to a small cluttered reading table by his bed. The inside of the shack was simple, a firepit in the centre crackled with a blackened pot over it, bubbling with a foul smelling fishy stew. The furniture appeared to be crafted from similar driftwood as fit the shacks construction. His bed was a large but simple hammock made of nets and furs. The lack of windows and the rain beating on the roof and the sound of the sea churning made it feel like a ship out of port.
 
The large ruddy faced man carelessly swept away the clutter and debris that lay scattered on his table. He then carefully placed the wrapped package on down as if it were a swaddling babe. He took another furtive glance about himself as if the walls of the shack might betray him. Some crack or hollowed knot might hide an eye that spied him.
 
He looked at the dog who panted at his side seeming to share his curiosity and excitement.
 
The man licked his bearded chop and breathed deeply as he began to slowly unwrap the mysterious package. The bearded man sighed after a moment as if forgetting how to breathe. As if he feared his breath might disturb the package somehow or alert some shrouded watcher.
 
Carefully he unwrapped the object, and finally as it lay naked on his work table, the meagre light from the firepit glinting off of it. His eyes widened and appeared to turn bright and silver. His mouth hanging open, almost salivating at the sight of the object as it seemed to glow and hum with potential.
 
“Beautiful” He gasped.
 
–
If you want to read the rest of the chapter head on over to inkitt. Rise up dirty waters
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