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Irish folklore

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

 

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.
 
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

Diana in the dark Chapter 11 ‘Dark lines’ (remurdered)

Here I go again recycling material. Well hey there, that wont be too long because I just finished furiously beating out the plan for Cur 2 and it turned out pretty nice and easy.

Although my plan to turn it into a five part series was sort of torpedoed because I basically decided that the structured would be better if I mashed two of my book ideas together. Otherwise I’d have had to come up with a bunch of filler to water down each concept and I didn’t want to make this middling story full of filler unconnected to the lore and plot.

Also laziness, pulling unconnected story out of your ass is hard and all I’m really doing with this is taking the actual mythology and give it connective tissue so it seems like a story and not just a bunch of stuff happening. So it’s not just X god did this, you understand their motivations, you know why they did it and how they feel about it.

So I’m just reciting mythology, I’m giving it life and taking a hell of a lot of liberties to do it. So I could insert huge swaths of unrelated story from different sources for instance some of what I added was from Arthurian legend and I added a tiny bit of Lovecraft because that’s just fun and forgive me for thinking a race of evil fish people should be a little lovecraftian haha.

But I didn’t want to take away from the plot and just have this little padded book, I want to write something I would read, I want adventure, I want a journey. I don’t want my characters to go to one place and be there the whole time, I want them to feel like I’ve gone with them. So to give it more scope I scraped two books and made one cohesive story.

It’s set to be a trilogy and I might just write them concurrently with clown shit in between haha. I basically don’t want to drip feed people this story or try and stretch it out like this is just a middle book, I want it to stand on it’s own and surpass the first which this definitely will. This book will make the first look a tiny in comparison by it’s scope. And then by the third book it will make the leap to epic fantasy, this second book is like the bridge from tight sword and sorcery pulp fantasy to epic sprawling huge battles fantasy.

Yeah so probably gonna start that next week but I feel like I should finish Loverman first just for the sake of my sanity. I’m imagining one person out there just ripping their hair out longing for a conclusion lurking just around the corner. Of course this person doesn’t exist or is more or less me. I’m just sort of feeling fantasy right now, sword and sorcery, also want to finish this boring red scare Shadow book so I can get back into Conan, which I’ve been really looking forward to.

Anyway that’s about all, just gonna be looking into more places I can send Cur to, maybe try and get more feedback on it because I think it sags a little towards the end. I dunno, I’ll wait for some objective opinions.

See you…

Locking doors was obviously for poor people who weren’t literally encircled by a small army of trigger happy ex-cops. Because Wendy was out prepping for the prom, it was certain she wouldn’t be here. I knew she had a brother but he was rarely home in the day, myths of an expensive heroin habit abounded. He’d probably stumble home much later, if at all.

The house should be empty but for an annoying little yappy dog she was banned from taking into school in her purse. Hopefully since the prom wasn’t at school, she’d probably have the annoying little rat with her, and I wouldn’t be tempted to pulp its head into an eight hundred dollar Persian rug.

I loved animals, but not that particular one.

I took a quick precautionary glance across the street, but thankfully aside from a team of illegals gardening two houses over, they were quiet. I guessed everyone was out living the good life, lounging around a golf course or a yacht or something. Aside from one guy eating noodles in his underwear and crying in a house he soon wouldn’t be able to afford.

I slipped into the house and closed the door firmly behind me. As I stood in the cool, sweet-smelling foyer, I felt okay. I was just a pretty rich girl coming home from yogalates, walking into her own home—no big deal. Nobody could call the cops over that. It wasn’t like I’d used a grappling hook and scaled the wall garden.

The interior was fresh and clean, cream interior walls with off-white, eggshell tiles on the floor. A staircase, carpeted in a darker cream snaked off from the oddly angled front door up to the bedrooms on the right. A big curtain-less window at the turn of the stairs let in lots of light.

I stopped in the hall and listened to the steady creak of silence. This confirmed the house was empty, so I let go of my breath and padded the tiles and dust off this new set of leathery predator wings.

The entryway opened up into a huge but very minimalist carpeted living room, it seemed to take up a whole corner of the house. It was very eighties deco, devoid of color, with a high ceiling that spanned both floors cut off by a balcony onto the second floor. There was a door off to the left, leading into a relatively small galley kitchen which was nevertheless very nice.

I wasn’t there for the tour, so it wasn’t like it mattered. I doubled back to the front door and started a slow ascent up the stairs. Looked outside the huge window at the turn, hoping not to see some nosey old woman staring at me and memorizing my face for a sketch artist to reproduce.

I figured if I was going to find any evidence at all of Wendy’s guilt, it wouldn’t be lying between the pages of a copy of Teen Vogue on the coffee table.

“Hey remember when I poisoned my dad and framed my mom for the money? Lol smiley face smile face xoxox.”

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but seemed unlikely. But who knew. She wasn’t like me, not the same kind of monster; a normal killer for a normal reason, a sane reason to do something insane, money was the root of all this.

So there was a chance Wendy wasn’t like me at all; there was a chance she had emotions. One of those possibly being guilt, and if that was true, she’d leave some trace of it behind.

My best bet was finding her computer and working a little slack hack magic on it, basically shake it and see what fell out.

I turned the corner, checking the window, but it was just the bare windowless face of the neighboring house staring back at me. I continued on up the second flight, noting an open bathroom off the stairs—seemed an odd place to put a bathroom.

The second floor split off in two directions, leading to the bedrooms. As far as I could remember, Wendy’s bedroom was off to the left, and her parent’s en suite was off to the right. Considering her parents weren’t in the picture anymore, it made little sense to not occupy the empty en suite.

It’s what I’d do, would have to be crazy to let all that closet space go to waste because of what? Sentimentality? Ghosts maybe?

I padded the carpeted floor delicately, hoping my light frame wouldn’t leave any telling footprints. Thankfully I’d remembered to not wear heels, and had opted for a set of flat treadless pumps.

I took the right, peering over the second floor balcony down at the living room and the large windows. It seemed like an average sleepy day in the neighborhood, not a curious dog walker in sight. Just sun shining and birds chirping.

Oh how I longed for the huge savage moon, and that black canvas of night to paint red.  ‘Soon,’ it hissed, and I knew it was right.

Soon I’d have my starry night and my bloody moon.

There was no rush; I’d started as early as I could. They’d be at the preparations until late into the afternoon. Factoring in Frappuccino and pastelito breaks, maybe some California tuna rolls. Skipping breakfast had been a mistake.

New rule; never break and enter on an empty stomach.

The hallway got a little narrower, I passed an airing cupboard and I could smell signs of a lived-in nature. More specifically, Wendy’s perfume; it seemed my estimation of her and our shared desire for closet space was on-point.

I entered, and was sort of surprised that the room was so small. Then I turned my head. I’d stepped into her closet.

I opened the door to her actual room and was instantly taken aback.

It was so… so…

Neat.

If you want to read more of this lovely book I’m probably going to be giving it away to people on my mailing list by the end of the year so join that and hold on to your butts. If you can’t wait that long just head on over to my inkitt page and read the raw version. It’s not all prim and proper but you’ll get the thrust.

 

Cur Chapter 18 ‘Gimme the prize’

Yep this is the final chapter.
I kinda spaced, I forgot this was the final chapter, I thought there was one more and I was like “Oh that’s it” haha.

It’s fine, it’s all fine, this is only the first book, I’ve already got plans on the next, I actually might go straight into the next one because it’s shorter than another Diana book and all these rejections have made me a little gunshy. I’m not sure I could make the next one as good as the first, you know the one that is already getting shat on by every cat lady literary agent and her fucking cats!

I already have the ending of the fifth book in this series planned haha. Is that normal? I hope not. I think I need to set some time aside to plan out the next book and see if I get a jolt on it. I have a rough idea of how I want to start it, the other parts just haven’t fallen into place. The stuff, the rudimentary plot, the journey, the middle bit.

People always the most important parts of anything is the beginning and the end and I think that’s true but I’ve noticed this recent trend in movies and books to just have really middling middle bits. And it really hurts pacing because it makes a film feel shorter than it is. You need that journey to feel substantial and satisfying so if nothing really happens in the middle the whole thing collapses in on itself. it’s why you get that feeling when you watch a movie like you haven’t even really watched a movie, you just looked at some footage rolling over your eyes for a couple of hours. It’s because it’s not paced like the movies you actually like. Which is why Aquaman which I saw the other day did so well because it had unlike most comic book movies a decent middle with an idiana jonesie adventure and romance so the film felt like an adventure. 
I’m not saying it was good, I’m saying the bar has been lowered so far that this crap passes for good, it’s the best most sparkly tinfoil covered turd in the punchbowl. The main villain didn’t appear at the start and disappear through most of the movie but still get praised as the best villain ever just cos like in Black Panther. You follow both villains through the whole movie cutting back and forth between the heroes and villains in a way that felt satisfying and bolstered the movie.

So yeah I enjoyed it like a person enjoying the interior decoration of a sinking ship.

In a good mood today which is weird because I’m actually in shitloads of pain because I pulled a muscle in my back on a chest fly. I had a really nice dream about the only person in the world that really matters. For reasons I can’t disclose, mainly pure evil; I can’t see that person but the dream let me know that one day I would. I really need to be someone they can be proud to know exists. I just need something, a clear path to being a real person.

Fuck me, why is this ‘life’ thing so hard?

Anyway, I promised I would plan something today, my next book possibly or some other hair brained scheme perhaps.

Gonna try and get some feedback on the completed book and maybe make some changes to it, there’s a lot about it that still feels unfinished.

See you…

“So you’ve finally arrived” Bres smirked as he bit the head off a pear. “Would you sit? Your ward is readying himself, my men and I rode all night to be here, we’re very tired.” He said staring at her as he chewed. His champion Ogma at his side, face bandaged like a mummified corpse, shrouded in a grim countenance. He looked as stiff as a tailors dummy sitting completely erect in his armor. Dian Cecht sat on the end, silent as the grave with his head hanging low trying not to be seen.

 

“I-I-“ The druiddess stammered.

 

“Sit down” Bres said firmly but softly.

 

Birog sat awkwardly on an ornate oak chair with a floral pattern on the green seat cushion. She almost missed the chair as she couldn’t take her eyes off the man that had been chasing her doggedly. Unable to get anything close to comfortable as her mind reeled and her fingers tightened around the box.

 

“I shouldn’t want to spoil the surprise but I can’t imagine what’s inside that box will save you.” Bres sighed.

 

“He didn’t-?”

 

“No, he told us where you were going but I pressed no further about the contents of that box” Bres smirked wickedly “I do so like surprises.”

 

“But-“

 

“I won’t kill you in his presence out of respect, but mark my words, this doesn’t end well for you little druid”.

 

Ogma narrowed his eyes making a face as if it pained him to do so, looking at his king. His king who’s face was beginning to turn an odd shade of purple with red blotches surfacing. “Look at her, she’s beaten, she knows it, we have no need to kill her my lord” He said. “She can still be of use.” He added looking at her, as if it was a question.

 

“Who is it that tells the king of Inish Veil what he must do?” Bres said without looking at him.

 

“He must kill me, don’t you see, I know too much” Birog said looking down talking into the box clutched to her chest. Then casting an erstwhile glance at Ogma.

 

Bres said nothing but tensed his jaw and started to grind his teeth as his face got more colourful.

 

Just as Ogma was about to get curious the page came back with cold meats and wine.

 

“You’re just as handsome as I remember you, Bres the beautiful” an unseen woman said.

 

Bres looked around for the woman.

 

“We hope you haven’t forgotten us.” Another said.

 

“How could he do a thing like that?” A third added.

 

Bres turned his head and appeared a beautiful woman with blonde hair in a white dress. And then one behind him leaning over his shoulder in a black dress with dark hair and then on his lap was a woman in a red dress with red hair.

 

“How could I forget such enchanting enchantresses” Bres smirked.

 

“Oh you are a flirt”

 

“As always”

 

“But how rarely you pay us a visit”

 

Bres smiled “Kings seldom have free time for such things”.

 

“You came to see the old man not us” The girl in white pouted.

 

“That couldn’t be further from the truth, I came to see the lovely three Moriggu, if I were to check up on the old man it would be a matter of course, that’s all. How is he, may I ask?”

 

“Same as usual”

 

“Away with the spirits” They giggled.

 

“Who’s this?” The one in red said sneeringly pointing at Birog.

 

“A pilgrim I met along the road perchance, she’s come a long way to see him”

 

“She has? Whatever for?” The one in black wrinkled her nose.

 

“She has a gift for him” Bres smirked.

 

“A gift?” The one in white said excitedly, her eyes widening like a child’s.

 

“You can see him, if you promise you’ll visit us again soon” The one in red said.

 

Bres took her hand and kissed it “Anything for you Babd”.

 

The other two looked on with cloistered dismay and disdain.

 

In an instant they transfigured themselves into fireflies of their respective colour. They flitted through an opening in the main room of the anti-chamber.

 

Birog entered the main chamber behind Bres who pushed the doors open wide, followed up by Ogma who looked on stonily.

 

The main chamber in contrast to the rest of the fortress was the definition of opulence. Every wall covered in red and purple and white silk. The furnishings were made of the finest materials, gold and silver leaf traced every nook of the room.

 

It wasn’t just a main chamber or a bed chamber. It was an exquisite throne room with extravagant chandeliers. A banquet table sat in the centre piled high with the grandest smelling food one could imagine.

 

At the far end of the room a set of stairs carpeted in a deep red velvet, leading to the throne and on it sat the once and former king Nuada Airgetlám.

 

“I bid you welcome Bres and guests.” He said softly.

 

“Hail ‘king’ Nuada” Bres said with a mocking smirk.

Check out the rest of the final chapter of the first book in this hopefully epic saga here on inkitt. Gimme the prize

Cur chapter 15 “Angel Blood”

Ok so not gonna lie, probably the shittiest start to a new year ever.
I worked on new years eve and didn’t get to spend either christmas or new years with the person that supposedly is madly in love with me.
Oh but then of course she made it up to me by giving me another bug that was going around which was ten times worse than the bug I previously had in the space of a month.
Then my ex instead of letting me skype with the only person that truly matters to me on this earth on her birthday or christmas called the cops on me over an email. I almost spent the night in jail over an email.
So yeah, really feeling 2019 so far, at least it can’t get much worse, but I’ve been surprised before.
Ok so my life being a total shitshow is no big reveal here but I am happy to reveal one of the better chapters in terms of action mostly, I reread and it’s not as great as I am remember more mythology captured in a comic but it’s fun. And if your balls don’t swell during the call out section you have no balls to speak of metaphorically or otherwise haha.
Anyway start of a new year, optimism, all that.
See you…
 
Three days and nights the Firbolg and Tuatha De’ met on the field of battle at Moyturra. And each day despite the mental state and lack of sleep of the Firbolg it ended in defeat after crushing defeat for the Tuatha De’. Their weapons were light and beautiful but could not compete with the savagery of the men of the soil. Even exhausted as they were they fought with the brutality they’d known all their lives and the mighty weapons they’d crafted. The Tuathe were defeated as if the earth itself rose up and swallowed them.
 
“We can’t keep this up much longer” The druid Caserd croaked. “Can’t you see, the losses are too great.” He whispered harshly in the dim light of the high king’s yurt.
 
“We’re victorious” The high king said as he rapped his knuckles against the hard arm rest of his chair.
 
“I don’t like it, the spirits don’t like it, there’s something wrong. Each day we decimate them but their numbers don’t decrease. We vanquish our foes and they come back each day renewed, these are not ordinary men my king.”
 
“So I must make a truce with these usurpers, give them half of all we’ve built to avoid more death? This land is built on blood, this soil is damp with it.” Eochid hissed.
 
“That’s why they want it, there’s dark magic at work here I’m sure of it” Caserd whispered.
 
“My king” A guard shouted from beyond the yurt.
 
“What is it?”
 
“There’s an old goat herder who says he has news of the Tuatha de’ invasion, he says it’s important.”
 
“A goat herder?” Eoichid sighed tilting his head towards Caserd.
 
“What harm could there be?” The druid shrugged.
 
“I’ll hear your goat herder.” He said waving his large hand.
 
A moment passed and a slow shuffling could be heard outside of the tent. An elderly man entered draped head to toe in a long lambs wool cloak of grey and white. His beard shared the same color and was so long he threw it over his shoulder.
 
The man was very old and his movements were slow and measured. His face wrinkled with sagging jowl but not lacking in color. And his eyes retained a spark of youthful mirth as he smiled deferentially at the king attempting to bow his already bent back. Resting on a gnarled shalagh cane.
 
“Greetings high king, I be Fint-“
 
“There’s no need for formal introductions goods sir, tell me of your misadventures.”
 
“Sir what I have to say may shock you.”
 
“Well there’s no point waiting on ceremony.”
 
“The other day I was taking my goats out to the hill to pluck the crags of weeds and grass there. They like it up high ya see, climbing up there, the grass must taste better near those old stones. The portal stones they’re called.”
 
Eoichid watched wearily the old man through his fingers as he rested his head in his hand.
 
The old man licked his lips and looked for some signal for him to go on and when none came he went on anyway. “Well while I was up there wouldn’t ya know I couldn’t see into their camp or nothing. They did a good job placing it out of sight but I did see- it was after the battle.”
 
“You watched the battle?”
 
“Oh no sir, I’ve seen enough blood in my time.” The old man gave a knowing smirk. “No I saw what was after when they was picking up their dead, not one left there to rot. They gathered them all up and I thought it was to bury them, you know. Mightn’t it be their custom to bury them on the day of death I thought, but no.”
 
The old man became contemplative, his eyes narrowing and brows creasing into too many folds to count as he scratched his gristled chin. “There was this funny lookin’ fella with a big nose and pointy ears and glasses on.” The old man gesticulated all the man’s features one by one. “And he was ordering the men that was still living to take the bodies of the dead and dying. And to put them in the spring that runs off the Loch Arbhach, great for fishing.”
 
Again he paused and looked for some signal to continue which didn’t come. “Anyway they put them bodies in the spring and the long nose fella he sprinkles some magic dust in the water.” With his wizened hand he emulated the motion of sprinkling the dust. “I dunno. He says some magic words spins around and they walked alive again.” He pointed with his cane and took to a harsh whisper “I swear by the gods there wasn’t a scratch on them, they just walked out like they were taking a dip.”
 
“It’s as I feared.” Caserd sighed.
 
“You believe this?” Eoichid asked with a cool simmering rage.
 
“There magic surpasses our own greatly and they’ve tricked us.” Caserd deflated, bowing his head.
 
Eoichid bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing.
 
Caserd looked at his high king with lidded eyes and raised his hands emphatically. “Don’t you see, they’ve been wearing us down, they’ve been beating us in victory, tiring our men, whittling them off slowly. Everyday our losses are massive and they lose none, this can’t go on, we’ve already lost too much, what will you do high king?”
 
Eoichid rose from his seat stoic. With a savage cutting energy he crossed the room and clutched his Javelin in his two strong hands squeezing it. Listening to the noise of it creaking in his monstrous leathery hands.
 
“I will go.”
 
 
The men of the bag lined up on Moytura outside the Tuatha de’ stronghold. In front of their palisade wall they beat their shields in time casting a deadly rhythm. The sound; like bone on bone clattering, the impeding march of skeletons claiming flesh as their own.
 
“HERE I AM! THE BLOOD OF KINGS RUNS THROUGH MY VEINS! NO MAN CAN BE MY EQUAL!” Eochid bellowed at the top of his lungs, his high shield at his side and his javelin at his other. His armor consisting of hardened plates of black leather and bleached bone. His helmet fashioned from a fearsome rams skull, it’s horns protruding upward. “NUADA, I AM THE MASTER OF YOUR DESTINY!”
 
The beating of the shields came again like a wave of crashing thunder building to a cacophony.
 
Eoichid bellowed gripping his javelin and shield tightly in his balled fists.“GIVE ME YOUR KING, LET ME SQUEEZE HIM IN MY HANDS!” 
If you want to the rest of this epic chapter head on over to inkitt;

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