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the fomorians

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 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 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 After Dark Chapter 15 ‘The Build up’

Well here we are again, 

I’m gonna keep this brief because I woke up with a splitting eye strain headache and I’m so fucking close to finishing the chapter break down of the first of my fantasy books of which the title is fluxuating. I wanted to call them ‘Cur’ and the titular character as an homage to the character he’s based on, namely the Kurgan from highlander. 

But I was thinking because ‘the Kurgan’ isn’t actually his name, it’s his tribe and his name is never actually stated in the movie I might do a better homage just to call the book and the character by his dead tribe; ‘The Firbolg’. I’m just not so sure it has the same ring to it as the Kurgan.

It might just be me adding the extra meaning and when I write this, the name Firbolg will be steeped in meaning. I dunno, gonna have to think about it, test how it feels but right now it seems more organic than calling him ‘Cur’ since Cur was sort of the start of this project but it’s evolved so much from there I don’t see why the title should be immune from that evolution.

Also not a big fan of subtitles but I hate messy unconnected titles like the witcher, I can’t really decide. I might just call the first book ‘The Firbolg’ or ‘Firbolg – Blood and Soil’ or soil and blood, in reference to the meaning of their name and the legend of them bringing sacks of dirt over to ireland.

Still playing around with it, still storyboarding, still researching and I need to get back to it, planning to start this bad boy friday at the latest. Kinda feel like I should sacrifice a goat or something haha.

Am I worthy? Haha. I dunno, I guess I just have to get over that and get stuck in, if I doubt myself now I may never start and just get bogged down trying to make it perfect and never get anywhere.

See you…

Outside the air was hot, a tropical wind blowing a hair dryer in my face. Wendy’s caked make up melting like a wax mask off my face. Sirens in the distance creeping over the shoreline, a sudden feeling of impending brain fart looming.

What could I do except throw myself on the mercy of a barrage of police questions with only my cute girl routine to fall back on. ‘It wasn’t me Mr scary police man, it was the one armed man’. I don’t know what disgusted me more; the thought that I would actually have to resort to that or that it might actually work. Well good looks don’t last forever.

My number one priority right now was finding my aunt/sister and boyfriend and getting as far the hell away from here as possible. With Wendy more or less dealt with that only left her little commandment breaking brother, Denny. Although I struggled to think which if not all the commandments he’d broken, surely he didn’t honour his father nor his mother. Incest and drug taking were apparently just a given.

I thought it would be pretty slick to escape out of the back fire door since doubling back through the main hall might run me back into Wendy’s path. Considering she wasn’t buried under a tonne of chipboard, which seemed a likely resting place for the wicked witch of the west coast. Or even worse; an awkward conversation with my aunt/sister over a dead cop. Also I couldn’t pretend to hope Denny hadn’t heard the shots. Or for that matter seen the waves of startled human cattle stampeding into the parking lot and disappearing into the night.

It was a good bet that he thought he was well on his way to enacting some kind of bloody revenge on my hapless aunt/sister at home. For of course ruining what could have been a lovely evening for his demented sister and possible lover. Or option two he was waiting with his hand on a large knife or gun waiting for either me or his sister to come out. So they could then ship off to aspen in the middle of the night and blow Orange County a kiss from the slopes with new names and probably new noses.

This being in the front of my mind leaving through the rear exit was my best option. I opened the fire exit with a mechanical clunking noise followed by lots of banging and scraping and a distinct smell of week old garbage. The back of the lazer arcade was a tight and cluttered alley opening onto a strip mall behind the arcade. The sirens were getting louder, so if he was still there he’d have to be getting more nervous and trigger happy by the second.

I looked at down at myself, at the silly pink prom dress I was borrowing. What was it I was planning to do exactly? Teen movie him to death?

A grave scraping like death’s scythe in the dark around my feet sent icy shivers up my bare ankle. Followed by a bitter mocking chuckle from the dark back seat. I breathed out and reached down to pick up whatever the hell I’d almost tripped over. The moonlight lifting its lidded eyes a slant to shine down on this unholy implement. Ok it was just a pipe, some kind of gas pipe maybe, don’t ask me I’m not a plumber. All I knew is that it was heavy on one end with a gnarly looking gauge or something sticking out.

Clue it is.

Who did that make me? Miss Scarlett or Madame Peacock? Was there a pink clue character?

This will do nicely, the thing inside said not in so many words. It’s teeth bared behind its leathery wings sending a rush of blood through the tips of my fingers. Making me feel magnetized, electric, like I was sticking to the walls. Like I was Spiderman crawling unseen above everyone’s heads as I traced through the dark in my ridiculous pink dress- ruffles and all. Quietly, I worked my way along the side of the lazer arcade, back around to the front.

The alley leading onto the strip mall was cramped and smelled like old hamburger meat and was most likely filthy. But the darkness was kind to it and to me as well as I peeked around the side of the pastel coloured building at the now more or less vacant parking lot.

But for one stretch hummer.

The parking lot was pretty well lit but the moon had given me a few dark pools in which to wallow. There was a large billboard on wheels facing out towards the road and a few trucks dotted about. They probably belonged to the furniture store on the other side of the arcade.

With the pipe in hand I hiked up my skirt like lady Chatterley about to descend her carriage or walk over a puddle, skittering along the ground as low as possible. I came up behind the billboard and peeped out for a closer look.

There was no movement. Although the tinted glass and the inherent clash of the dark and the bright parking lot lights made it impossible to see inside. I smelled axel grease and looked down at my hands and dress to see that I was covered in it. Looking at the pipe, the obvious culprit making a silent yuck face and then slipping back into the dark mask.

My body was starting to feel loosely coiled, the feeling of letting go mashing against the rising tide of ultimate control. Dark powerful waves tossing tiny boats aside like they were in the bath tub of Cthulhu’s baby brother.

If you wanna read the rest, you know the drill.

The build up

 

 

 

 

 

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