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The Witcher

Cur Chapter 14 ‘Love thine enemy’

Ok so instead of a poem I have this beauty of a chapter as we finally get into the meat of the story.
This is the stuff I was encouraged to hold back for the purposes of a reveal and I wont really know how it works until I get some feedback or I do a solid read through.
But this is when we get into the heart of the first invasion, the real folklore not the shit I made up to go around it haha. I mean there’s a lot of that but this is the real dope and I love it. I love the mythology, I love the whole story, it’s great and I hope you do too because I’m too busy to get anything more up tomorrow. But believe me the next few chapters are gonna be coming hard and I can’t wait for you to read them.
See you…
 
Many years ago when the land was known as Inish Alga, the noble isle.
 
The goddess Tailtui kissed him and her lips were as sweet and as sour as the first blackberry of spring. Her body was as firm and as warm as a log on the fire in front of which they made love. Her body crashing against his like a falling tree she kissed him again with an intense urgency. Looking into his eyes she whispered a blessing and a curse “As long as I love you, you shall never die.”
 
The fire blew out and cloaked the room in inky blackness. A deep silence and a rattling scratching noise came from the fireplace.
 
“What is it Eoichid?” A silken voice asked.
 
Eoichid pushed her off of his large frame and strode towards the fire place. He stoked the embers stabbing at them with a poker his naked broad back to his woman. He could hear the scratching more clearly. It was a skittering noise in the chimney.
 
Just a bird trapped in the chimney” He stated his voice flat and stern as his jawline.
 
Then all of a sudden a thunderous crash and a great black bird hit the embers scattering sparks and hot ash in an explosion of chaotic furry. The bird cawed and sqwarked and flew about the room. Eoichid’s ears pricked as he finally noticed a dull metronome of flapping wings and cawing. He went to the window and the sky was black with their fetid wings. Their vile bulbous black bodies blotted out the sun as they flew as if shoulder to shoulder.
 
Eoichid woke in a sweat, he turned to look at his wife Tailtiu still sleeping, her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something loathesome. Her auburn hair like a bed of autumn leaves. Her face was pale and lovely like freshly fallen snow. Her features that of a faun, or nymph, a slightly upturned nose, light pouted lips and speckled cheeks.
 
He got out from under the furs of their bed and put on a robe. He fumbled out of his bed chambers without waking the goddess and took a lit torch from a sconce in the hall. He walked down the circular stone steps into the druid’s quarters.
 
The druid’s quarters were dank and dusty. The smell of booze and bone dust covered by the sweet scents of lavender and thyme permeated the tapestries on the walls.
 
The room was dark but the outlines of skulls and books and dirty bowls could be seen amassed on the many counter tops and spilling from reliquaries. The piled stone walls were covered in a thick layer of dust.
 
“Caserd! Caserd! are you awake you old fool?” Eochid lit up the old druid’s face with the firelight.
 
The old man spoke without moving his eyes. His face potmarked and covered with an ashen beard. “I’m always awake my lord high king.” He opened just one eye in his wizened face “Is it bad dreams sire?”
 
Eoichid stood motionless at the foot of his bed, the torch held low. “I need you to read the bones again”
 
“As you wish my king” The old druid climbed out of his bed in his night robes and cap and by the light of the King’s torch he placed a candle on the ground. Next to it, a cup of water and another cup in which he poured alcohol.
 
He sat with his legs bony crossed on the stone floor and took a deep breath closing his eyes and then dropped a single piece of silver into the bowl of water.
 
“The bounty of the deep” The old man whispered hoarsely.
 
He clapped his hands and the candle lit. “The rising of the light”
 
He dipped his finger in the water and touched his forehead.
 
The druid gazed at the flame and cleared his throat “Between fire and water, I find my balance”.
 
He then lifted the cup with the alcohol in it. “I drink to the holy powers of the world- I drink to the ancestors – I drink to the land spirits – I drink to the shining goddesses and gods – To all the beings in all the worlds – In land sea and sky below and on high – I drink this cup of fellowship.” The old druid then threw the liquid to the back of his throat instantly causing a fit of coughing.
 
When the coughing fit subsided he took a swig from the jug from whence he poured it and cleared his throat again. He scrunched up his face and taking a handful of bones he threw them into a pewter dish.
 
He moved them around a little and squinted at them and then moved them around again. He looked puzzled for a moment and turned back to his stone jug and took another long pull resulting in the same amount of coughing as before.
 
“Spit it out” Eoichid erupted impatiently.
 
“Black wings” The old man sputtered. “I see a sky covered in a blanket of black wings”.
 
 
The next morning Eoichid looked out on the balcony of his chambers. He watched as slow creeping mist covered the mountains of Sliabh an Iarainn to the west. Looking out at them from his capital of Tailtin, named for his wife and goddess.
 
The mist remained for three days and three nights and the high king watched it with cool trepidation. Until the third it cleared but in its place a mighty ship crewed by shining people stood on the mountain.
 
They slowly advanced westward toward the sea of Ulster. A messenger was sent forth from both tribes.
 
 
Sreng the mightiest champion of the Firbolg, rode his black horse up the hill carrying the shovel headed javelin of the Firbolg. A long rounded shield on his back and an iron club on his belt to parlay with the outsiders. On his shield was the crest of Connacht, the sword arm and black bird. He wore a multicoloured patchwork cloak and a heavy hide jerkin. He was large and broad shouldered with a weathered face and long black beard and hair.
 
The shining one stood on the hill, he was small but fair of face with long golden hair with no beard and carried a sharp thin spear.
 
The sky was dark slate grey, a light mist covered the ground and a strong wind blew them both and speckled rain. The green hills stretching on forever, sheep in the fields grazing calmly, a squat crow sat on a high stone next to the hill sqwarking to itself.
 
From the hill Sreng could see the mighty capital Tailtin. Hundreds of smoke stack round houses surrounded by a huge wall of timber and the fort that was the high king’s keep towering at the top of it.
 
The shining one spoke and his voice was like honied water, calming but firm and constant, delicate but sure. “I am Bres the beautiful of the Tuatha De’ and I offer you glad tidings, brother.”
 
Sreng stopped at the bottom of the hill to look at the stranger. His skin was pale almost silver and translucent in color, his features sharp and his ears slightly pointed at the top. He wore a light and loose tunic with his arms and chest exposed revealing strange blue markings which seemed to glow when the light hit them.
 
His eyes too were strange, they were a bright amber color. There was a moment before Sreng decided to speak.
 
“I am Sreng of the Firbolg”. He bellowed, his eyes lidded and searching.
 
“So we share the same tongue – cousins perhaps?” Bres smiled jovially and carelessly.
 
Sreng stared trying to hide hide amazement for a moment in silence.
 
“My people talk of our ancient predecessors walking this, our ancestral home, is it that I look at a ghost of our past?” Bres jested with a mocking smile.
 
“I am no ghost” Sreng said as he continued to study the stranger’s weapons as he’d never seen anything like it before.
 
They looked strong and deadly sharp but were thinner than any weapon he’d seen. He could barely fathom how something as thin as a goose feather could be a weapon at all.
 
“You like my spear? Here, take it if you like.” Bres tossed the spear sideways and it floated through the air weightlessly. Sreng caught it in his huge hand and his eyes widened as he took it in and felt that it had almost no weight. He gawped at it in amazement as he ran his finger over the fine point and sharp edge and saw blood. He sucked his finger and looked up at Bres.
 
“You can keep it, we have many more” He grinned. “I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that one on your back.”
 
Sreng thought for a moment before deciding it was only chivalrous to do the same. He slid his javelin out of the doe skin and tossed it at Bres as one would a log onto a fire.
 
Bres caught it in one hand and swung it about himself as if he’d handled it a thousand times before. Cutting through the air with the savage recurved blade and stabbing the air with the rounded shovel point looking down the hefty haft.
 
“A good weight to it” He said as he jostled it playfully. “How do you get this metal to behave?”
 
“Our forging techniques are a guarded secret.” Sreng said gruffly.
 
“I see”
 
“Why is it you’ve come?” Sreng asked.
 
“Oh didn’t I say already?” Bres licked his lips and grinned. “We’re home”
 
“What is it your people want, be clear so I may return to my king.” Sreng said curtly, letting some irritation slip into his voice.
 
Bres pursed his lips and tapped his fingers along the haft of the rugged javelin.
 
“Half”
 
“Half?” Sreng spat.
 
“Half the island” Bres smiled playfully but he was not joking.
 
“You wish me to relay this to my king, High king Eoichid Mac Erc? That you want half of all that is his?” Sreng said almost dumbstruck by this boldfaced arrogance.
 
“I can do it myself” The voice came from close behind Sreng.
 
Sreng blinked and saw the shining man on the hill was gone and next to him stood a reflection of himself staring back at him carrying his own javelin. In an instant the javelin came down and cleaved Sreng’s mighty head from his shoulders. His head had rolled halfway down the hill before his body fell.
 
“Babd, did that please you?”
 
The crow shone and changed into the form of an elven woman wearing a deep red silken dress, her lips two were kissed as such.
 
“Yes my lord”. She cooed.
 
“Take the spear and the body back to Nuada, Dian Cecht will most likely want to study both.”
 
“Yes my lord”.
 
 
“Half!? HALF!?” Eoichid shouted his voice booming around the stone walls of his audience chamber. His face youthful and handsome as it was, twisted by rage and in his eyes a battle tested ugliness dwelt. “They come into my land, the land we fought and bled for. The land we built from nothing with our own hands, the very soil carried on our backs from that cursed land that slaved us and he wants HALF!?” The veins on his neck stood out like the branches of a tree and so to the scars on his face were licked by torchlight.
 
Sreng knelt before him, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as Eoichid paced back and forth.
 
“Never” Eoichid whispered. “NEVER!” He bellowed. “If we give them half this day they’ll take all from under our noses tomorrow.” Eoichid walked over to his throne, which was a simple chair made of ash with a gold leaf trim and the coat of arms relief. The slim beautiful spear of the Tuatha de’ draped across its arm rests. He snatched it up off his chair “And what is this? A chariot ornament, a giant whore’s hairpin” He said as he snapped the clean wooden haft over his knee and threw the two pieces into the fire.
 
The high king calmed himself and addressed his champion. “Sreng, you will ride out at first light and ask them what field of battle they wish to die on. We’ll meet them with shovel or pick or fork if they like but they will never have this land.”
 
Sreng nodded and didn’t say another word.
 
“You’re dismissed.”
 

Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt Love thine enemy

Cur Chapter 12 ‘The burning of the temple’

 
The smell of smoke, darkness, crawling, blackness, air.
 
Dian Cecht coughed and spluttered as he dragged himself crawling and blackened out of his escape tunnel. Gasping at the fresh air.
 
“Well it’s good to see you again, old friend” A mocking voice said above his head.
 
He turned over, scrambling in the ashes, stunned to hear the familiar voice, his face black with soot and his eyes wide and frightened. He waited on his knees in the dark for the shapes to emerge from the smoke laden sky.
 
“Y-you!” Dian Cecht mumbled grasping at a clump of black earth beneath him.
 
“Me” Bres smiled atop his horse, his men behind him, looking down at the great healer.
 
Dian Cecht lowered his head, his hands splayed out in front of him. “You’re too late, she’s already gone from here, a day’s ride ahead of you, you’ll never find her.”
 
“Of course I will, you’re going to help me” Bres laughed and crossed his hands over his saddle.
 
Dian Cecht put his hands on his thighs and looked at the dirt knowing that he was right. “I may be a coward, hiding in that place but you! You are cursed by all the gods for desecrating that holy site!”
 
“Desecrating? Me? The king of Inish Veil?” He laughed looking around at his men. “Surely you are mistaken, it was a mere accident. So many candles in Newgrange, this was bound to happen sooner or later. A little mouse must have knocked one over and set fire to some old dry parchment and woof! The whole temple up in flames” His men who chuckled, all but one. Ogma gritted his teeth holding his hand to his ear wishing that both his ears were cut off and his eyes gouged and his tongue pulled.
 
“You should kill me now” Dian Cecht said almost begging, his hands tightening above his knees.
 
“Why would I do that, we’re in need of a good healer, we have a wounded man after all, Ogma show him your ear” He said turning in his saddle. Waving Ogma to approach.
 
Ogma tried to smooth out his face. Remove any of the disdain he was feeling as he removed his hand from his head showing Dian Cecht the place where his ear ought to have been.
 
“I can’t grow back an ear, not without my lab that you just burnt to the ground” His tone suddenly changed from wounded animal to righteously indignant.
 
“Tsk tsk, these accusations are very dangerous, we all agree it was just a mouse, don’t we” He said to his men who nodded and laughed.
 
“That temple was-“
 
“That temple was here long before us. Some robed fools with long beards decide it has mystical significance, it means nothing to me – or the mice as it seems” He laughed.
 
“So what is to be? Will you come with us or return to your burning temple?” Bres asked, already knowing the answer but enjoying it all the same.
 
Dian Cecht face gave up an elasticity it once had and he slumped visibly. “I will”.
 
“Good, take him” Bres instructed one of his men turning his horse to ride on along the path.
 
“You didn’t have to do that” Ogma said through gritted teeth holding his ear once more, looking past the king.
 
“No maybe not but you’re yet to understand the stakes of this game, allow me your trust in this matter.” Bres said softly.
 
“You could have talked to him.” Ogma said through gritted teeth.
 
“I just did talk to him” Bres smiled “What’s one dusty old tomb?” Bres breathed in heavily looking out at the lush pastures, the sweetness of the dew mixing with the bitter scents of smoke and ash.
 
“It sits in the shade of the stone of destiny itself” He cursed.
 
“And yet the stone is untouched as it rests on the hill of Tarah, do you wish to make a pilgrimage to it brother?” Bres turned his head, his voice full of scourn and accusation and derision. His eyes scanning Ogma up and down as if it was the first time they’d met.
 
Ogma could say nothing, his tongue seized in his mouth. His anger simmering below the surface of his stony grey flesh.
 
“We don’t have time to sit around flapping our gums, the fate of Inish Veil is at stake.” Bres straightened in his saddle, pulling at the reins of his horse, looking over the horizon.
 
“How is that?” Ogma shrank from him, his face twisting.
 
“Your job is to follow my orders, not to question them, now ride on!” Bres said sternly.
 
Ogma grimaced, swallowing his pride. “Yes sire.”
 
 
“It was the Fomori.” Abhartach said, his eyes fixed and glassy as if he were manically reciting a nursery rhyme.
 
“That fairytale again” Birog scoffed.
 
“It won’t be like last time” Abhertach scolded, looking at Birog as if she had grown another head. “They have a new king. In the time of Nemed they used force, might was all they knew. They forced the people to submit, enslaved them. They put a tax on them; two thirds of their corn, two thirds of their milk. And two thirds of their-“ Abertach’s jaw grew tight and he swallowed, his throat clacking dry.
 
“-Children” Birog shuddered.
 
“You know the stories then? You know what happened. “His eyes lit up and the dwarf became enervated with wild hand gestures. “The people, our ancestors the children of Nemed rose up and killed one of their kings in his tower, Conand. But their other king Morc retaliated and decimated the people of Nemed with a great wave and a plague that came from the sea. A cataclyism that scattered our people and changed us forever.”
 
“You expect us to believe all this?” Birog tutted.
Behold the rest of the chapter over on initt, huzzah! The burning of the temple

3 Ring Samurai Part 2 Chapter 4 ‘Imaginary Folklore’

Yo,

I actually planned to and wrote a review for battlefield 1 for yesterday but it was so dull and pointless I just didn’t post it, insert rant about modern gaming haha. Basically sums up what I thought of it. It was ok, considering I paid nothing for it.

Good news just got back the second to last piece of Diana and the last piece is on it’s way, our baby gonna be whole and beautiful soon enough. Then I can make the final changes, get her looking good and get her ready to shake her ass for some literary agents which in all likelihood will be all be women haha. True fact about literary agents, the gatekeepers of the industry, most of them are women. But then again most book readers today are women I think.
Well that is you see a lot of books targeting women specifically. Mostly about sex with vampires or werewolves or handsome rich guys haha. Kinda makes me wonder why that is, when did our culture move away from men reading books? What am I talking about? I literally started this blog mentioning the reason, it’s fucking videogames of course and movies and tv obviously. Fucking videogames killed men’s desire to read, goddamn it haha.

Well maybe that was when videogame stories were half decent, now they’re either totally ass or non-existent. The non gamers are probably off watching netflix or sport. But the thing is for me, my love of books really cushioned the blow for shitty videogame stories. I never really expect much from a games story and don’t care if it doesn’t even have one, in fact I prefer it. Because if I want a good story, there’s one waiting for me in a book. In the same respect if I want to see shitty cgi and explosions I go watch a marvel movie haha.

If you go looking for good stories in a videogame you will be disappointed. Even so we see novelists working with games developers to make decent stories and captivating world like the guy that wrote the metro novels which spawned the awesome metro games and yes I will be preordering the next instalment haha. Probably, if I’m not broke still when it comes out. Spent the last of my money, i.e the banks money on the last round of editing for D. If I work all through christmas I might be able to eat sometime late january haha.

To a lesser extent the witcher, though I won’t get into that because I fucking hate the witcher books with a passion and the writer is such a jackass. The games are great, they really elevate his boring overrated writing but the asshat is still suing them for more money despite the fact he thought they would fail so didn’t opt in for royalties, he just took a cash lump sum I guess. But of course now it’s like the hottest game of the decade he’s all in wanting his cut. If you read any of his books you’d be utterly disgusted by this.

They turned his boring slog into a living world full of interesting folklore and action and memorable interesting characters and GWENT! Holy of holies. I just saw they released a gwent rpg card game and I had hold myself to resist buying it at full price.

In other news the Parker book I’m reading has got lit, it’s pretty good, like it’s all out war at this point where Parker enlisted an army of his old heist buddies to take this mob town apart. Just gutting it of money, they take like a quarter mil in one night which is awesome. But the heists are a little too easy honestly, it’s nice but the hard stuff is coming and I can’t wait.

Anyhoo, gotta get back to work, got a new piece of my lovely lady Diana to clean up and I have to prioritise that obviously.

See you…

A dry morning wind lashed at the dusty emptiness of the wasteland as the sounds of muted activity echoed over all the stark nothing. The ambience of a frail egg shell headache, a morn after the night before, everyone tip toeing around busily packing up their lives. Still cool and dank but the sun bright and blinding coming up over another centuries old pile of garbage in the distance.

A slight figure blotted out that bright sun and cast an angular shadow on the side of a circus tent. One of the boys taking it down turned his scruffy dirty face in the direction of the shadow maker. He squinted with his hand attempting to block out the sun, a strange blinking collar around his neck.

“Mornin’” The young carny said as if it were a phrase buttoned to his tattered coveralls. He squinted harder trying to make out the figure. Rubbing his eyes as strange images of malformed birds filled his mind and he saw a grotesque heron mask. “Oh lady Hero, I didn’t know it-“

“The Ringmaster, where is he?”

“Oh, the boss, he’s-he’s still up in the big top, they’re getting ready to pull it next.”

“Thank you” Heron said flatly, slowly walking in the direction the boy gesticulated to.

The boy nervously returned to his tinkering, loosening the ties on the tent and scratching under his bomb collar.

Heron walked in between the stalls, more carny’s tinkering away to dismantle and pack away games and rides. All so they could move on to the next town, she could feel them they trying not to look directly at her.

“Hows tricks bird girl?” A voice mocked.

Heron looked coldly out of the corner of her eye, the voice came from a tall gaunt figure leaning out the window of his icecream van. He laughed and stared with his sharp dagger like beady eyes as he smoked from the corner of his mouth letting ash hit the counter without a care.

She turned her head to the front and continued saying nothing.

The Icecream man laughed and watched her go tapping ash out the window.

At the foot of the big top the dogfaced boy sat sullenly falling in and out of consciousness.

Upon seeing her he decided to be awake and quickly bound over to her.

“Ya bring me anything?” He said.

“Not this time, the big man in here?” Heron said.

“Yeah, he and Tanner are arguing about how the mutant sea lions are kept again, it’s really boring.”

“I see” She said as she patted him on the head and went on through into the big top.

Inside it was even cooler without the sun, the smell was so familiar; woodchips and blood and vomit and piss. Death and life, love and hate, there was nothing that wasn’t under this big top.

Heron looked up at the rigging, staring at it without knowing why, for a moment she couldn’t take her eyes off the tightrope.

Then remembering her purpose she pushed on into the ring.

As she was fortold the Ringleader was having a heated discussion with Tanner the animal tamer.

The Ringleader was a large man with a round belly but without hint of sagging. His roundness was almost perfect and complete, spherical and tightly packed, as if he were a baseball that could tuck in his arms and legs and roll away. But attached to the baseball were strong ropey arms and legs and a head he used to hold an oversized black top hat. His face always carrying the merest hint of a jovial smile betraying a wicked set of eyes which poked into every corner. He stroked and twirled his vaudeville mustache as he gestured wildly with his free hand.

“My good man, you realise these ‘creatures’ of yours cost an arm and a leg to feed, quite literally. I simply cannot afford any more lavish accomodations for them and certainly can’t spare the water to give them a dipping pool.”

“But you don’t understand, the heat is worse than ever this year, they’re going crazy, they need a way to cool off.” Tanner said as he stooped. Tanner was a large man with soft eyes, a lover of animals and wildly homicidally protective the particular species he’d trained from birth.

A rather unusual species of sea dwelling creatures that had with the drying of the oceans evolved to live on land. Undoubtedly with the help of the rampant radioactive fallout after the first war. One of the creatures playfully practised a routine where it would stand to attention on a podium. Then accused criminals would be dropped from the rigging for him to catch and eat. In this instance a side of beef or some other indistinguishable meat was dropped. The huge thing lumbered into position on the podium wobbling back and forth comically.

The creatures were huge twice maybe three times the size of a human. Scaly shiney skin but rough and course like sand paper. They had huge heads with large teeth and tusks but oddly reptilian features, with clawed hands ridged flippers for digging in the sand.

The ringmaster looked the creature over. The creature almost seemed to be trained to beg and look as cute as a giant reptilian mutant man eater could.

The meat was dropped and in an instant the creature timed it’s movements perfectly and snapped the meat out of the air with it’s ferocious jaws. The power of the bite bisecting the meat without need of sharp teeth, just the power of the jaw was enough to rip anything apart.

It moved with so much power, all those large muscles moving at once, spurred by instinct and training, the ground seemed to quake, the air shifting. The amount of power necessary to move that bulk would astound any crowd. The amount will to train the beast even more so.

Heron stared at the Ringmaster and he turned and noticed her out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to Tanner to dismiss him. “I’ll see what I can do”.

“Very well” Tanner said also having noticed Heron waiting. He left abruptly without saying anything more. Exiting through a large opening in the back. The creature bounded after him flopping around comically dragging it’s large finned tail.

“Yes?” The Ringmaster said crossing his hands behind his back he tilted his head as if he were talking to a child “Do you have something to say?”

“They’re all dead”

The Ringmaster showed no great surprise in his stoney features, he only let out a long disappointed sigh “I see”. He turned to walk up the steps towards his ‘throne’ on the edge of the big top. It was a monstrosity made of collected pieces of wood and metal. Different discarded weapons of the long dead clans that came before. The scattered remnants now making up most of the circus a generation or so on.

He sat and waited for her to say more “Is there more?”

“The ronin clown Pookie lives” She said flat.

He hid it well but at the corner of his eyes, wrinkles started to appear. “And why didn’t you stop him?”

Heron stood not moving, expressionless behind her mask. “That was not my mission”

“Your mission was to bring back a body, so where is it?” He gestured spreading out the fingers of one hand.

Heron said nothing.

The Ringmaster tutted “Forgive me, you’ve lost your friends and I’ve lost a headline act” He paused and thought about the implications. “I want his head atop my throne by this afternoon”

“Yes Ringmaster.” Heron said.

“Wait, I changed my mind!” He tapped his lips with a long finger “I want you to shadow him for me. Report to me on his movements through carrier pidgeon” He sighed deep in thought. “More information is necessary.” He said to himself. The ringmaster straightened his moustache and tugged at it a little more before he noticed Heron was still standing there. “You’re dismissed.”

“Yes Ringmaster”.

Read the rest on inkitt Imaginary folklore

Cur Chapter 11 ‘Nightcrawlers’

Hey there,

Gonna keep it really short like super short because I feel like total garbage which is why there was no poem yesterday, I was too focused on not throwing up and trying to sleep than being creative.

I guess I ate something that didn’t agree with me because my stomach is in hell and I haven’t slept very good the last two days.

Then I start to try and so some work and the internet doesn’t work for some reason and would you guess I’m banned on facebook again but this time it was literally for nothing. Like I haven’t even been using that account very much since I got the alt account. But I get a message saying I had a picture removed because it goes against our “Community standards” you know that thing we keep specifically vague so we can decide literally anything goes against it. Yeah that thing. But get this, I go to see what it was they removed and it was nothing, like it wasn’t that it was a harmless picture, it was literally nothing. Where the thing they removed usually appeared it was just blank.

I haven’t even uploaded any pictures recently on that account, so not only could I not see what it was to contest it, I sent it for review, still banned, surprise surprise. Facebook is a fucking joke. This is either a fuck up in the algorithm or there’s literally someone just banning me for fun and I wouldn’t be surprised if either one was true. Someone at facebook hates me. It’s fucking ridiculous.

Anyway I managed to get some proofreading done today, thankfully it was a short chapter but it needed a lot of work and I really need another go over this book in depth when I finish the first proofread because I sense some structural and continuity problems I need to rectify.

Ok that’s your lot.

See you…

The tavern hummed with activity, drinking, games of darts and singing songs and merriment. The light of the warm fire danced along the dark wooden beams and the cobbled stone floor. On the walls made of stone not daub were exquisite paintings and tapestries depicting maids bathing by a lake like wood nymphs. The room swelled with a carefree indulgence rarely seen in these hard times. Coirpre of course, savoured every moment of it. How lucky he felt to be in the bohemian city of Slaghtaverty, to be in Ulster away from the pig farmers and yocals who couldn’t hope to appreciate his poetry. To smell fine wines and ales in the air instead of pig shit and misery.

 

Here it was different, the people were cultured and open minded and what’s more they knew his name and treated him as his position would dictate. Bard’s were of course revered as much as princes for the power they held could make kings and heroes alike out of common folk and vice versa.

 

They could bring to life ancient battles and mighty sea voyages, they had the power to create and destroy reputations a power few sneered at.

 

“Please sir Coirpre, one more ballad, the lusty maid of Sliabh an Iarainn perhaps?” A women in a fox felt hat said, her comely face slackened by the ale in her cup. Her dress even more so.

 

“No no, I must go to bed” Coipre jested.

 

“But who would you take with you noble Coirpre” The woman cued shamelessly, moistening her eyes and clutching her breast wantonly. The tone of her voice flat and monotone, her eyes doughy and expressionless. A small crowd of similarly inebriated women gathering at her heel.

 

“My lady please, I beg you-.“ Coirpre taken aback by this proposal turned clumsily and bumped face first into the warm stone wall of the tavern. In doing so spilling the remainder of his flagon on his tunic.

 

Looking up from his stupor he regarded that it was not in fact a wall but a man, a man in which he recognized.

 

“Are you all right sir Coipre” The drunken maid asked the downed bard as he picked himself back up.

 

“It’s you!” He sputtered attempting to dust the bear off his jerkin. “The one who saved me from those bloodthirsty peasants in Killaloe?”

 

Cur didn’t even look down as he said in his guttural fashion “Out of my way fool!” pushing the minstrel aside like a common beggar.

 

“Yes well, thank you all the same” He muttered tugging at the bottom of his sodden tunic, his face turning red.

 

“What are we doing here?” Birog whispered as she dusted off a chair to sit at a table near the fire. “Isn’t it dangerous to come here, I think the fewer people we encounter the better, what if a thief were to-“

 

“We have business to conclude here with the Chieftain Abertach.” Tuan said as he sat down looking around at the women who encircled the bard Coirpre like a bird of prey picking a mouse.

 

“What business? We have a mission that will decide the fate of the whole kingdom and you want to run errands?” Birog tittered folding her arms scournfully.

 

Cur eyes scanned the small inn looking at every local in turn. There was Coirpre the bard fending off a coven of flat faced wenches with fat arses. A potbellied bureacrat with a bulbous nose drinking himself red in the face leering at those around him. Some merchants sat at a long table drinking and playing some sort of card game, taking it very seriously as if their lives depended on it.

 

No denizen of the inn stood out but one. A strange cloaked figure whispered in the ear of the barkeep who was not as subtle as the cloaked figure stopping to gawp open mouthed in Cur’s direction.

 

“Good evening gentle folk.” A melodious voice said over his shoulder.

 

Coipre bowed cross legged at the edge of the table smiling tentatively. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot and I’d very much like to apologise.” He said speaking clearly looking at Cur who did not meet his gaze. “And of course buy you all a drink, perhaps perform any ballad or song you’d like.” He smiled looking at Tuan and Birog and then as if about to take to song he lifted his head to look at the wall behind them. “As on the morrow I depart to be received by none other than Bres king of Inish Veil himself at Dun Bresse.” Coipre boasted tossing a glance at the druiddess who seemed to recoil at hearing the name.

 

“Go” Cur groaned.

 

Tuan laughed and said “But haven’t you heard, Bres isn’t home.” He smirked and watched the puzzlement circle the bard’s face before releasing him. Tuan licked his lips and put both his hands on the table. “But a drink and a ditty will do nicely, anyone else?”

 

“Oh yes” Birog said “I’d love to hear a song.” She smiled seeming almost giddy to forget about Dun Bresse.

 

“She doesn’t get out much” Tuan smirked. “Three honey meads I think”

 

“Speak and it is done- oh barkeep!” He snapped his fingers at the barman. The cloaked figure who whispered to him skulked away almost without foot steps. He seemed even to float out of the door and under the crest of Ulster hanging above it.

 

The barkeep was a skinny sweaty looking fellow with a bulging beer gut and a potmarked faced. “Yes of course honorable Coipre sir!” He said bending and scraping like he was paying some sort of debt working here.

 

He returned swiftly with their drinks but under the one meant for the firbolg was a folded note. He he took it and unfolded it regarding it nonchalantly. He looked up at the barkeep who seemed hesitant, waiting for a response, his mouth slightly open as if he forgot to breathe.

 

“He’ll see you now” He said trying to whisper but his throat was too hoarse and it broke almost instantly.

 

Cur said nothing and slowly rose to his feet. Tuan and Birog did the same instinctively feeling as if the mood had changed drastically.

 

“The gentleman must go alone” The barkeep said putting out a pale thin hand to bar them with only the ghost of a threat.

 

“No, they come to” Cur growled.

 

The barkeep let his hand drop to his side as if it were made of wet rags “If you’re certain”. He swallowed painfully, his gaunt throat visibly contorting.

 

The barkeep nodded thoughtlessly, looking off into nothing.

 

Tuan looked at Coipre who held his loot about to play, a bemused expression on his face. “Be a good chap and mind our drinks won’t you” He smirked.

 

They left the table and followed the barkeep up a short set of steps beside the bar and around a corner into the back. There was an ordinary looking door, that seemed like it might lead to a cellar or cold room. The barkeep approached it and rapped on it three times.

 

“He’s here sir, the stranger” The barkeep said his head tilted forward waiting for a response.

 

With that the door opened and the barkeep moved aside and watched them as they went inside as if waiting for a pat on the head.

 

The door closed behind them. Before they knew it, they were boxed in on both sides by a couple of dwarf heavies in thick leather jerkins who padded them down for weapons. Going about it with the cool disinterest of a farmhand patting a sack of grain.

 

Cur grabbed the hand of the first that tried for his blade. A young but strapping dwarf with a pale beard but no moustache. An impish expression on his face as if he was caught stealing a bun from a market stall.

 

“I keep my weapon, you keep your fingers.” Cur hissed.

 

The dwarf froze, sweat dripping from his forehead he looked off at the other end of the smokey dark room. A large desk and the figure sitting behind it, waiting for some sign.

 

The figure at the desk waved some pipe smoke away and in so doing made a gesture. The dwarf heavy with permission retracted his hand scournfully, glaring at the side of Cur’s head.

 

Birog started a slap fight with her molester, ending in a red face for both of them but her attacker looked far more embarrassed. An older dwarf with a cue bald head and small boxed in ears, a long beard plated at the corners of his mouth. His ruddy face and beard made him appear more like a goat herder than a hired thug. Despite Birog’s protestation he succeeded in separating her from her sword belt and spiriting it away with him back into his corner. A dismayed look on his face as if he expected an apology.

 

Tuan rarely carried a weapon and thus did not object to the search. Merely tutting then rearranging his coat.

 

“Sit” The figure behind the desk said. Two more diminutive but stocky bodyguards stood behind him. Their arms crossed in front of them, large crossbows cradled on their tattooed forearms.

 

There was only one seat purposefully dwarfed by the desk, the Firbolg took it. Tuan and Birog were expected to be invisible, standing between the desk and the door.

 

“He might have thought you were jesting.” The dwarf behind the desk said as he stubbed out he rapped his pipe dumping the embers into a wooden tray.

 

“New boy, Abbertach?”

 

Abhertach didn’t take his eyes off Cur as he repacked his ornate hand carved bone pipe. One of the archers lit the pipe with a candle held in a hand missing most of its fingers. Abhertach let out a tight little laugh as he realised his mistake. The bodyguard missing the fingers growled under his breath. His face frozen in a bitter grimace. “Yes, he is.”

 

The dwarf with the missing fingers was completely bald and so clean shaven it looked like he could not grow hair at all. He scowled at the Firbolg as if somehow that would grow his fingers back.

 

“I should have told him not to search you but you see it’s a force of habit, no harm no foul, this time. I didn’t know you were coming.” Abhertach tried to smile warmly but under it was a cold clenching of teeth and sharp inhale of breath.

 

“The great Abhartach, spy master and thief, didn’t know we were coming” Tuan chimed in.

 

“And who are you sir that you know me enough to call me a thief?” Abhertach’s demeanor was jovial but barbed with a clear threat.

 

“No one” Tuan shrugged.

 

Abhartach was a gristled dwarf with shrewd rodent like eyes. The physique and shoulders of a warrior with a barreled gut of a chieftain. But the cheeks and soft wrinkled face of some sort of blood thirsty merchant who’d sell his grandmother for a higher cushion.

 

Abhartach twirled his enormous moustache which he wore with no beard which was uncommon for dwarfs. They were usually full bearded or clean shaven.

 

“Now that the formalities are out of the way, what is it you want here?” Abhartach said leaning back in his chair looking down his nose at them slowing his breathing.

 

Cur looked about the room which was grand in it’s relative squalor. A small secretive office with extravagant furnishings, a mix between a thieves hideout and a whore’s boudoir. The desk was high and he undoubtedly sat on a raised chair and made sure the guests chairs were shorter so he could look down on them.

 

“I paid you for the last job and I have no further use of you”. He said as he leaned forward clasping his hands dismissively in front of him as if discussing rug sales.

 

“The woman” Cur said.

 

“Ah yes” Abhartach said scratching the side of his nose with his pinky. “Well-“

 

“You set us up, there was a witch in the woods waiting for us” Tuan said merrily, no hint of accusation, he remarked on it as if finding a penny in mincemeat pie.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, who is this?” He asked the Firbolg.

 

Tuan without reservation jumped across the table transforming in mid air into the from of a wolf taking the dwarf chieftain by the throat.

 

The young dwarf who tried to frisk Cur put his hand on the Firbolg’s shoulder and pressed down trying to stop him from rising. Radiating his will downward.

 

Cur took the lads hand and pulled him down so he could take him by the scruff of the neck. Cur smashed his face smashed with a vicious indifference against Abhatach’s high desk, flailing a few of his teeth across the blotter. The unbridled and unwarranted cold savagery of it froze the room in amber for a few moments.

 

The bodyguards readied their cross bows.

 

“Wait” Abhartach strained lifting a hand.

 

The crossbow men lowered their aim.

 

Tuan took human form again and hopped off the desk smiling as if it was a little show he put on descending the high stage with a click of his heel.

 

“Out with it Abhartach, you work for Bres?” Cur scolded.

 

Abhartach rubbed his neck and smiled trying to laugh but only coughing. “Bres? You could say he works for me”.

 

“What fantasy is this?” Birog said.

 

Abhartach looked at her for a moment puzzled then back to Cur as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

 

“Surely he order you to kill the chieftains of the villages that wouldn’t pay his taxes?” Birog said almost to herself. Now in the dim darkness of this smokey room those words sounded so feeble and childish coming from her.

 

Abhartach became grim and started to breathe heavily. His face draining of colour and his eyes becoming long and hollow staring at nothing as he rubbed his neck. His face locked and expressionless as if he pictured himself somewhere else as he spoke in hollow tones. “If only that were the case” He said hauntingly.

 

“What do you mean” Birog asked.

 

He looked at her and saw nothing and licked his dry lips. He started breathing heavier and his neck became red as he rubbed it. “You don’t understand, the taxes aren’t Bres’ at all” He said almost whispering his eyes looked scared even thinking about it.

 

“Who left here?” Cur said.

 

Abhartach let his mouth hang open.

 

“If it isn’t you then- where are the children?” Birog asked.

 

Abhartach slammed his fist on his desk and screamed “I DON’T KNOW!” He calmed himself and said again “I don’t know, oh goddess save me I don’t know.”

 

He went on shyly “They just wanted me to choose, they knew of me, knew I would know the right villages to- I had no choice. They said they’d, they’d do the same to Slaghtaverty.” He breathed heavier and heavier and seemed to sink into his chair as if he were deflating.

 

“Who?” Cur asked.

 

“They didn’t want to do it like last time, they’re smarter now, they have a new king, they rule from the shadows. They wanted me to choose and cover it all up for them.” He spoke faster seemingly rambling.

 

“You used us” Tuan said.

 

“Yes, I thought if I could spread a rumour of a vampire or some such monster I could distract people from the truth. You just had to go there and cause a ruckus, kill a few elves and then they’d come for the rest but the blame would fall on the mysterious stranger.”

 

“Who are they?”

 

“It didn’t occur to me that I chose villages that refused to pay their tax, its just a coincidence, I had no choice- they wanted the children.” His eyes reddened and he spoke quickly as if it all had to come out at once, as if every word unburdened him somehow.

 

“You sent a messenger to meet us with our bounty, he lured us out to a witch, lured us into the woods.” Tuan mused.

 

“I sent no messenger, I always paid you here, it was them, don’t you understand, they were done with you, you were a loose end they had to tie up. Do you understand?”

 

“WHO?” Cur stood and slammed his massive hand on the desk towering over Abhertach his voice booming over the sounds of merriment below.

 

 

The night was darker than pitch, cold and moist. The cloaked figure could still hear the dampened merriments of the folk inside. He looked up at Abhartach’s office window and grinned.

 

He took something from the sleeve of his cloak and started to sprinkle it on the ground muttering some sort of incantation.

 

He then started to walk the street of the town, all in their beds but the tavern folk. Their chimneys slowly dying as the children slept soundly their mother pecking them on the forehead. Their fathers tucking them in.

 

The figure continued to walk, humming to himself as a bluish fog started to cover the town of Slaghtaverty.

Read it on inkitt Nightcrawlers

Cur Chapter 9 ‘Stone letter’

Hello there,
Erm almost didn’t post a poem yesterday and was set to apologise for going out into the real world and interacting with humans sort of. But then I did so…
The poem thing is something I can’t really force, but hopefully it’s something someone might find enlivening, if that’s a word. I know my stuff has dropped off a little because as with the season I’m just being a bit of a miserable cunt haha.
But I got this chapter proofread (but not spellchecked haha) and I’m making strides towards getting the pitch stuff ready for Diana to make her real world debut, fingers crossed. Could be some time yet before it’s all edited but I’m making a concerted effort to make sure it has the strongest foot forward I can give it. Nothing too drastic, I just keep going back with fresh eyes and going over it but I plan on doing an entire new read through just to make sure it flows and just to buff out some of the rough edges. 
Cur certainly needs that, I’m thinking of almost rewriting it entirely before I even hand it over to an editor because I dunno along the way I think I let it wonder off the mark a little bit. And I haven’t too clear headed these last couple of months what with the sleep experiments which are sort of working but also not because I keep fucking them up and on top of that the weighlifting messes with my sleep even more. So a lot of the time it’s like I can’t even think straight or I’m too tired to put it together and make sense of it.

In other news, thinking about the new Diana book has already begun, implying I don’t have a plan/have it half written in my head already. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile waiting for the mood to be right and for lightning to strike.

Gonna have to get back into the Dexter books for inspiration but I’m already deep into the next Parker book which is pretty good so far. It’s sort of trying to redeem the shitty amusement park book and so far it’s delivering quite, it’s definitely better, more open, more mobile, more dynamic with more characters old and new. It’s shaping up to be really good.
Anyway that’s about all I need to go cook for the fam now, making my signature (as of a week ago) spaghetti and meatballs made entirely from scratch. Kind of proud of it because it’s delicious and I do find cooking very fun and relaxing.
See you…
 
Birds in the forest tittered and fluttered through the trees. The sound of which made Tuan’s head feel like an hourglass turned on it’s side.
 
The campfire from the night before was dying. Cur put it out of it’s misery stamping down on it with his heavy boots, the warm embers crashing around it.
 
One of which flew close to Birog’s face as she lay sleeping. She opened her eyes cautiously to look at it as it smouldered on the ground in front of her. She turned her eyes up to look at him. Her expression that of a fawn looking up at a great mountain that might fall on her head at any moment.
 
“We ride out” Cur grunted almost as if he was talking to himself.
 
“We?” The girl said coyly.
 
Cur grimaced slightly, hearing her slight.
 
Tuan groaned and held his head and hissed. “He doesn’t like repeating himself” He paused. “Where are we going again?” The shapeshifter said squinting.
 
They set off to Sí an Bhrú, the druidess on her horse, the shape shifter accompanied her in the form of a bird flying over top surveying the roads and fields. The barbarian preferred to walk than to ride.
 
Within a few hours of travelling they were in eye shot of the temple mound known as Sí an Bhrú. The mound and cairns of inish vale were so old that not even the Firbolg knew their true origin or original purpose.
 
The mound was located on the north side of the river Boyne. It lay in an open field surrounded only by hedgerows and a series of standing stone circles moving out. The mound itself was an enormous structure, round and grassy like a manmade hillock. A retaining wall at the front, made of white quartz cobblestones at its entrance. Forty foot high at its tallest point and two hundred and fifty wide and there was no telling how deep it went into the earth if it stopped at all.
 
The Tuatha de, recognizing it as a holy site of some power made use of it as a temple to Danu. Honoring it by placing the stone of destiny on the nearby hill of Tara where Bres himself was crowned king of Inish veil.
 
They approached the enormous retaining wall and as they got closer they could now see all the engravings in the stone. Deeply set swirls and circular patterns swirling outward around the entrance. The entrance itself was a very small rectangular slot walled in by large megalithic stones with similar carvings. The temple had no door and there was no activity or guards posted anywhere around the outside.
 
Standing at the entrance looking in they could see it was lit. What little sunlight got in from the outside was accompanied by braziers on the ground every ten or twenty feet. as well as hundreds of candles affixed directly to the stone. Years of wax drippings coating them making them slick and appear almost like the inside of a throat. The flames of the candles lapped at the irregular stone that made up the inner construction. It resembled that of a manmade cave formed from rocks no tuatha de could hope to move.
 
The stones inside and the clay roof gave off a strange resonance the druidess could feel in her torque. Cur too could feel it buzzing at his scars like a mosquito.
 
Cur swept past her squeezing into the cramped entrance and listening for footsteps or any sign of occupance. He traversed a very narrow hallway with entrances onto a pair of small altar rooms on each side, little more than caves and holes in the ground. Some of which could have been a very meager sleeping quarters or an anti-room.
 
He heard then the sound of whispering carried on a draft and he followed it to another identical room. The entrance made of two bowing stones making a triangular shape.
 
Inside it seemed much larger with a high ceiling that echoed with his heavy footfalls. The whispering carried by the strange acoustics of the structure. Something about it bothered him, as if every breath gave him away. It felt as if someone at the heart was listening or even watching him indifferently, waiting.
 
The room was a hollow and the floor sloped into the centre where a basin lay. The basin formed of descending slates of stone circling each other making a shallow pit which appeared to have water in it.
 
Kneeling at the pit was a skinny welp wearing a moth eaten grey cloak.
 
Without saying anything Cur crossed the room and picked the old man up by the collar of his cloak and stood him up on his two feet.
 
“Dian Cecht?” He growled low.
 
“Wwwhat?” The man said, his breath stinking of mouldy bread and cheese. His balding head and shining flat face angered Cur with it’s oblivious sincerity. Cur spat on the floor.
 
“Firbolg?” The druidess said behind him “What are you doing?”
 
Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt Stone letter.

Cur Chapter 8 ‘Thick as thieves’

Bit of a chill one today, its raining outside and I’m feeling gently melancholic – but in a good way haha.

I really do love the rain, sometimes I can’t sleep without hearing it. Don’t know what I’d do if I left the country to some hotter climb. I think I’ll only truly be happy when I move somewhere where it rains all the time haha.

It really doesn’t rain in England as much as people think.

I dunno, I don’t like going out in it but I could spend hours just watching it. Something about knowing that someone else is doing the exact same thing somewhere. Or that outside the world is bare of people, just all huddled around inside watching as it comes down. The steady rhythmic metronome of the rain hitting the ground and trees. Something about that really gets me.

I don’t have much to say other than that, not been up to much except proofreading. I think I really need to go over Cur a couple of times because it’s just too big of a project not to. It only worked out around 50k words but when I say big I’, referring to the scope. I tried to make a little fantasy story but the source material is unrestrainably epic.

I did borrow my brothers ps4 to try out the new spiderman game, I think the last spiderman game I played might have been spiderman 2 haha. It’s pretty good but it has some serious flaws, I might write a review when I finish it.

Down to this latest chapter of Cur, probably the most pivotal chapter up to now in terms of the lore and the backstory for the characters as well as the main themes for the story overall. No action unfortunately but *in Bain voice* ‘That comes later’.

This is sort of where the main story really takes off in terms of an actual quest and some epic duels will follow on from this. This is basically the end of this part and the next will all be about the actual task that Birog is to be given. The main story is of course about Cur but Birog is the character that carries the driving force of the plot.

Ok so enough rambling about that haha. I’ve been too knackered to finish Plunder Squad recently, that’s the name of the Parker book I’m reading, please don’t judge them by the titles haha. Thankfully kept away from the witcher. Not sure I’ll return to that honestly, just a chore to read.

That’s all for now, hope you like this excerpt and if you do, head on over to inkitt to read the rest and my other stories.

See you…

Hear- could hear nothing but the sound of the lapping sea and the gulls circling overhead with their monotonous chatter. The sea roared at his feet, the sky swirling with black and grey clouds. His mouth was open and dry and he could feel the sand under him but nothing else and he couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

 

He stared up at the clouds unable to move his head or close his eyes or feel any of his extremities whatsoever. Not the cold of the wind, nor the spray of the sea, only the sand below him shifting and the little things crawling beneath it.

 

There was no pain, or pleasure, or sense at all, just the sea’s endless roar.

 

Underneath him and he could feel his hair knotting in the sand, damp and being pulled by something. His feet too were being tugged by something out of his line of sight.

 

“We want the dead one’s boots” A little guttural voice said.

 

“We wants his eyes” The harsh voice tugging at his hair said. “Whats you need boots for under the waters anyways?”

 

“To trade” The affronted one said.

 

“You already have your trophy for the king of the deep, begone with you!”

 

“No you!”

 

The two figures continued to bicker and pull at the dead man lying on the beach.

 

“What’s that?” One of them said.

 

“Leg it!” The other said accompanied by the sound of skittering little feet.

 

And then by his feet a splashing sploshing noise as the waves swallowed one of the little things pulling at him and the other darted into a bush.

 

“What do we have here?” A new voice said, one that sounded like a bear and a bird talking at once. “There is life left in this one yet”

 

Time passed as the dead man watched the sky roll over him without care. The sun seen through the clouds turning orange as he felt himself being dragged on what sounded like wooden plank along the ground.

 

The sounds of the waves then replaced with the sound of a campfire and the blanket of clouds replaced by the blanket of night. The stars like pin pricks in the roof of the sky beaming down on his lifeless inert form. Only remnants of his consciousness left to stare out of a blank face for eternity as the rest fell away.

 

Cur awoke from his dream, his neck feeling stiff after being trampled by the black mare. He hushed himself as he heard quiet conversation and the melodious playing of a harp and the light of another fire.

 

“It’s quite alright, I’d probably rob me too if I met me” The druidess laughed.

 

“Our time on the road has hardened us, I beg forgiveness my lady” Tuan tittered like a bard.

 

“And the other one?”

 

“He fell out of his mother hard as a rock” Tuan chuckled.

 

The druidess giggled “However did you meet him?”

 

“It’s a long and very embarrassing story.” Tuan said.

 

“Well? Do tell shapeshifter” She fawned

 

“You see I was caught short, let’s say, a mating ritual -interrupted.” He smiled and waited for a response.

 

“I see”

 

“I was, how do you say, conducting myself in an indecent manor when some loutish fishermen caught me with my trousers around my ankles should we say. They bound me before I could change into something more formidable. There was nothing I could do, I was at a loss” Tuan said with a waiffish arrogance.

 

“Fisherman, in their nets, I’m sorry I’m not following.” The druidess balked as she talked into her cup.

 “Forgive me, I forgot to mention I was transformed into a salmon at the time.” Tuan said absentmindedly staring off into space.

 

“Oh I see, Oh I see” She giggled.

 

“Yes, so these idiots were planning on cooking and eating me, I tried to talk to them but they wouldn’t have any of it. I tried to tell them I wasn’t a fish but that just made it worse. You see they were convinced for some damned reason that eating me would give them all the knowledge in the world. I have no idea why.” He said as he took a sip from his cup.

 

“Why didn’t you change into a Wyvern or a crocodile?” Birog said wide eyed, listening intently.

 

“I was already confined in the pot, and I couldn’t think of anything, I get terrible stage fright, all animals fall out of my head when pressed.”

 

“So what happened then?” She said shaking her as if the drink was getting to her a little bit.

 

“Well all the noise of me shouting and arguing with the fishermen drew out the ogre. Who I suspect was trying to take a shit in the woods at the time and he came out and scared them off.”

 

The druidess burst into laughter spilling her wine over her shoulder.

 

“I only suggest that as his trousers were around his ankles as he chased them.”

 

She tried to catch her breath and sputtered “What happened after that?”

 “Well I pledged my life to him as he inadvertently saved it. But of course sour one as he is, he didn’t take kindly to it at first but I was sure to follow him to one day return the favor. But as you might have guessed saving the life of a dead man is quite impossible.”

 

“What an interesting story, I don’t think I’ve heard anything like it in all my life.” Birog gaped. “But can I ask- why is he so-?”

 

“Cruel?”

 

“I’m not sure that’s the right word for it, I’m not sure a word exists to describe what he is. He’s cold but inside burns something truly- monstrous, something I couldn’t envision even in my dreams”.

 

“I know little of him but of his people, I have seen much.”

“What have you seen?” She said intently as bit from a leg of succulent roast pork which turned on a spit over the fire.

 

“I have seen Connacht in ruins as a crow sees it.”

Check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt.

Thick as thieves

 

 

GS2 Chapter 24 ‘Kinda outta luck’

Hey ho fellow humanoids,

This sadly will be the only blog for this week because my day job is about to get especially hectic over the following week and I’ll have absolutely zero time to work on that or anything else for that matter. I just have time today to do a little proofreading, maybe some spamming then hi ho hi ho it’s off to work I go.

What have I been up to, none other than revisiting everyone’s favourite (and only) clown samurai; Pookie Pookerson (not cannon last name).

Yep so I started the next part of three ring like ‘how do I do this again? What’s the backstory?’ haha and weirdly it went pretty well, I mean I’m not churning it out but what I put out was pretty good I thought. I kinda wanted it to be like an anime that skirts a fine line between serious and comedy. So you have this completely ridiculous world full of ridiculous people but the humour comes from them all taking it really seriously until they don’t.

So I think the opening I did for the second part captured that pretty well, had some wry humor but mostly kept it straight and focused on the action and the story… of which there is one haha. I have some idea where I want to go with it but I’m not taking it too seriously, I’m just trying to have fun with it and work on it as a break that’s not a break haha. Because I can’t actually stop writing, I can just take it less seriously haha.

The next few days are gonna suck for multiple reasons but maybe I’ll get some reading done in between unspeakable horror. Might finish that Parker novel which is shaping up to be really good. It kind of has a weird structure because its sort of gone off on a tangent but has such good tension that it doesn’t matter that it’s not directly attached to the job. He’s basically had his cake and eaten it here because you have the autistic planning and setup phase interspersed with this tense action set piece which is also drawn out really well. And all the characters are great and Parker feels like Parker again when he kind of felt like Joe blow in the last couple of books. 

But this book makes me happy because I started to feel after the witcher and these last two Parker books that I was falling out of love with reading as a result of playing too many video games and watching too many films. But it’s not the case I’m as eager as before to really get into this book. Not as much as I was when reading Dexter but that’s Dexter for you haha.

Now that I mention the witcher I heard rumours that ciri is supposed to be black in the netflix show. And I could have maybe seen how Geralt the white wolf could have been black maybe because his origins are sort of a mystery so you can just rewrite and say he came from Kovir. Same could be done with Dandelion because they don’t really have firm backstories in the books or the games. But Ciri has a really firm backstory which is tied directly to the plot.

For Ciri to be black literally all of Cintra of which she’s the princess of has to be wakanda haha. The entire royal line would have to be black, the elves too because she’s the spawn of the elder blood. She has elven blood running through her veins. So the elves have to be black too. I mean maybe she could be mullatto because her father is sort of this cursed outcast who had to basically trick Queen Calanthe into marrying her daughter Princess Pavetta. Which Geralt helped him to do in exchange for the right of surprise on Ciri. So you could just make her father from Kovir I guess but that adds another layer of politics to an already politics heavy story and not to mention Kovir I don’t think is even in the books.

Essentially I think this show is going to be a glorious trainwreck too concerned with diversity quotas and virtue signalling to actually tell a decent compelling story, it’s the type of shit we see everyday. This isn’t new, so it’s probably going to flop, I mean you’ve alienated the majority of the fanbase even saying you’re basing it off the books because the people that play the games have no idea how shit the books are in comparison haha. So they’ll watch the first episode and be like “What is this shit?” and they’ll turn it off haha. Add to that the new wakanda plotline and you’re making a show for like three people two of which are in the writing staff haha.

I just think this is really funny. It just sounds like it’s going to be a colossal disaster and I’m just getting my popcorn ready, while also eagerly awaited CD projeckt red to wow us Cyberpunk which looks amazing. I can’t wait for that, still not going to preorder haha. Unless they make me an offer I can’t refuse haha. Some people are still shitting on it saying it looks like shitty Deus ex and I don’t know what they’re talking about it, I think it looks like the complete fucking opposite. It looks like Deus ex with some balls and real grit and a living huge world not a tiny sandbox to mess about in, but a gta sized world with cars and people.

What I hope is it finds a balance between deus ex with it’s well crafted little sandboxes and gta’s huge open world because there are trade offs to both. With deus ex you get less room to play and explore and no vehicles but every set piece is hand crafted and every room feels kind of lived in and real. Whereas in gta it’s sort of lots of nothing in some cases. It’s bigger and has more vehicles but you can’t actually explore all the buildings or what not, so there are trade offs. 
The bar I’m setting for Cyberpunk is a middle ground between these two. Because I love Deus ex but I always felt like it was holding back, not giving me enough, sort of just giving me bite size chunks of this world to sell me the rest as dlc. Whereas in gta you almost get too much and it deters replay value. And once upon a time we had a perfect blend of both. 
We once had games that were full satisfying experiences that weren’t just dlc/sequel bait but also left you wanting to play them again to experience things you might’ve missed.

It’s the kind of oldschool mentality and feel you only get from these eastern european developers like cd projekt and warhorse because their ethos is stuck in the 90’s but their tech is modern. They have passion and grit and love of their games without trying to squeeze every cent out of them or push some political narrative. They’re at this perfect stage where they’re big enough to make triple a titles that rival the big boys but small enough to not have focus groups or investors breathing down their necks and imposing their will on the games like we’re seeing from EA and Besthesda. Two companies that were once heroes now living long enough to become villains. Due alone to their business practices and their churning out of these lazy subpar games used to push lazy political narratives.
But that’s just the way it is I guess. I mean if multi-billion dollar companies can’t bring out a decent series of star wars movies then what hope does netflix and videogame companies have?

Anyway that’s enough ranting for today, gone on way too long already. Gonna see if I can’t get some proofreading in before I crash, got a big week of constant sorrow ahead of me haha. But that come down is sweet, on sunday I promise to do little more than feed myself and I might not even do that haha. Might be too lazy and just learn to photosynthesize haha.

Legit running out of content now haha. Green Sunday is almost done, Gage is toast, gotta get cranking out those Proofs on Cur and write some more samurai clown goodness haha.

See you..

“ADAM WAIT!” A ghostly voice cried out.

A deathly pause, a black echo, the sound of shaking metal and a robotic response; “That name.”

TJ opened his eyes slowly, the metal foot hovering an inch in front of his face about to curb stomp him against the ice. The foot was stopped, frozen with hesitation. The Lancer paused, he shook his head and pretended he didn’t hear it. A mistake, a ghost in the machine and pressed his foot against TJ’s skull pinning it to the ice. Put pressure on it a pound at a time of crushing pressure.

“ADAM STOP!” A shrill voice cried.

The Lancer stopped again and took the pressure off. The hair on the back of his neck raised like he was a kid caught playing with his mothers high heels. He breathed in and out but didn’t turn his head. He shook his head again and put his foot back.

TJ closed his eyes. The cold metal foot was still stopped and all he could hear was the drone of the furry horde. The Lancer’s foot came completely off TJ’s head and he stumbled backwards weighed down by something. White tentacles wrapped around his throat and his legs and his arms and his waist. More and more latching on until he was almost covered in these white appendages.

TJ rolled onto his back and he rubbed his eyes trying to focus on the ghostly arms that had hold of the chrome knight.

‘Arm…s’ plural, the Lancer was locked down by a series of thin naked white arms.

A straight jacket of porcelain flesh constricting around all his joints stopping him like quicksand. His movements grinding to a halt as more and more arms began to wrap around him.

“What the fuck?” TJ whispered.

Carpenter looked down at the sea of furry faces. All cheery and colourful and hungry for flesh and probably the juice inside eyeballs. He lost his balance for a second wobbling the plank. He darted his head back and kept his cutlass high locking eyes with the Frenchman who was still and silent.

“Are you ready?” The Frenchman said. His voice ringing with a gleeful tone of completion. Of fate reaches out a warm hand and patting him on the small of his back.

Carpenter said nothing. He smiled broadly and started to rock back and forth and then bounce slightly up and down like he was a on a trampoline. Getting deeper into the bounce each time.

The Frenchman lost some composure as he felt the board shaking. Heard it creaking and groaning, wood fibres splitting and giving way. “What are you doing?” He shrieked as he could feel it giving way.

Carpenter fed on his fear, his smile growing wider. His lips parting showing those sharp teeth and he said; “Whatever it takes.”

Read the full chapter on inkitt by following this link kinda outta luck.

Cur chapter 7 ‘Sore eyes’

Hello there,

Back again with some special content, now I’m finished writing it I’m barrelling away with the proofreading and hope to get it edited soon. I like how it turned out. It’s small but it’s like a stepping stone to how epic the plan is for it going forward. I want people to read the last book and see how it compares to this one in terms of how the scope gets grander and grander as there was no way in hell this can’t turn into epic fantasy based on the source material. 
The mythology I’m working with is probably the basis for a lot of Tolkien, hopefully that gives you some window into what I’m processing in terms of the actual lore.

Didn’t do much yesterday, spent a nice chunk of time with the most special people on the earth to me in digital form then I ate a lot of meat and pasta and fought to stay awake while proofreading this chapter. Quick tip, don’t eat pasta in the middle of the day haha.

Still really digging the latest Parker book, still in austistic planning phases and I’m loving it. No news on the witcher front except about the TV show casting Henry Caville to be Geralt which is a weird choice. I guess its just because he wanted it haha. Honestly I don’t hold out much hope for the show because netflix is garbage, and the writing team they have seem like millenial douchnozzles and it’s supposedly going to be based on the books and I think I’ve made my opinions on the books apparent. I think the books are a dumpster fire and the games are only good because they use the characters and build an interesting world to interact with. CD projekt red did the impossible and polished a turd and made it sparkle. Now do I think netfux can do that? Nah.

The witcher is only popular because of the games, no one ever heard of it before that and for good reason, the books are objectively bad/boring/derivative only a bunch of sycophantic hipsters pretend to like it for whatever reason. So if you’re basing it off the books in which Geralt slays like three monsters, we’ve got problems. Whereas if they make it like a freak of the week show akin to supernatural where’s there’s a new monster every episode and a vein of story running through it, it could work. But do I think they’ll do that or go with game of thrones shit?

I don’t think Caville will do a bad job and I’m glad it’s an english guy, although I would have preferred Mads Mikkelson, that dude was born to be Geralt. But maybe now he can be Cur haha.

Actually thinking about it who would I cast as Cur if I had the choice of anyone, Tom Hardy pops out for Bane. I could see that, use camera trickery to make everyone shorter than him and hey presto got a giant.
Of course if I could choose anyone and age didn’t matter it would definitely hands down be Mr Krabs himself, Clancy Brown, the basis for the character of Cur from the Kurgan in highlander. I just saw him in Detroit become human and he doesn’t look too old but I don’t know if he’s in shape but if I could choose anyone it would be him. Tom Hardy would be a bigger draw and he’s a better actor. And he’s yet to have like a solid action type movie where he’s the center.

Like he stars in all these thrillery actiony movies but is never ‘that guy’ like bond or Ethan Hunt. I think maybe that’s why he wanted to do venom so he could do that. But I hear it’s gonna suck because they pussed out and made it a 12a when originally they were gonna go the deadpool route and push for an adult rating. Which would have been awesome because the first trailer was dumb but the second trailer looked pretty good and that plus venom biting people’s heads off with maximum gore seemed like a winner but neutered 12a venom makes me think of ghost rider and I get a full body cringe.

I think certainly after seeing him as Bane and Bronson, he has the screen presence to pull that off.

But young Clancy Brown is who’s in my head when I write Cur, he’s the guy. I sometimes have to watch the ‘Gimme the prize’ music video from the highlander movie and see the Kurgan in action to really get into the mood of the character and put them into my story. To get that raw visceral ambivalence and chaotic evil nature and put it up on the page.

Talking about Detroit become human actually, makes me think about gaming before youtube. Because Detroit is one of those games I would have played and written an angry review about which is what I desperately want to do with a game that just came out that’s called ‘We happy few’. But I haven’t actually played either I just watched a full playthrough on youtube while doing something else haha.

So I don’t feel good about reviewing something I haven’t spent any money on (apart from movies haha),like I don’t feel that mad or invested. I just feel relieved that I saved forty quid haha. Because those games were interesting to watch on a stream but if I paid for them I would be spitting mad with those two garbage fires haha.

Detroit is basically the least subtle movie about social justice race/gender politics I’ve ever seen. It’s so on the nose with the holocaust stuff it’s was almost unbearable to watch it’s complete lack of subtlety and nuance. It just made me wonder if David Cage needs someone to chew his food for him. I half expected Trump to be in it and personally throw a black jewish drag queen into an oven while reciting passages of mein kampf.

And we happy few is basically a game made by someone in canada who liked bioshock and overheard someone talking about 1984 and brave new world and thought that would be good as a game. Because the only real parallel between 1984 is the fact the first character you play edits newspapers, once at the beginning of the game and never does it again, wow, much reference such inspired. I haven’t actually read brave new world but I’m assuming it’s not about hiding in bushes and engaging in really shitty combat with an umbrella.

It started life as just a survival game then some bright spot thought it would be good to have a story and then just made a series of fetch quests and called it a story. Its basically a glorified hidden item/phone game like granny but on a larger scale with less good stealth mechanics and much more filler. The difference is granny is free and this is basically an indie kickstarter game asking AAA prices. Kill yourself haha. Mainly what I hate about it is it’s essentially bioshock but instead of playing someone coming from outside discovering the world for the first time, you’re just a splicer with no powers who whines constantly about everything in the most annoying voice ever haha.

 My one line review would be “It’s bioshock but you can’t shoot bees from your fist” End. That’s all you need to know, it’s totally derivative and seems to take the wackiness of bioshock to a point where you can’t take it seriously. But it also fails to juxtapose that with the oppressive atmosphere to create any tension. It’s like it takes the wackiness to a point of idiocy but also deals with the serious stuff in a way that is just boring and depressing. It’s the worst of two worlds, it’s not serious enough to be ground but too depressing and boring to be fun.

Ok enough rambling, actually I have nothing better to do today haha. I spent too much time setting things up now I have 14 minutes to do some more proofreading, well whatever. I guess I’ll just do some spamming and take a nap, fuck me haha.

I think I’m gonna make a start on the next three ring instalment, just take a poke at it. I started doing the real shit workout again and I feel so sluggish, feels like I’ve been sleeping covered in sandbags. So until I get used to that again I’m gonna be basically useless at everything except holding up mugs full of green tea and yawning and it’s about to get crazy at work next week, somebody kill me.

This is a pretty fun chapter, not as fun as the last one but close.

See you…

The crow watched dispassionately from it’s perch in high Tallaght. It cawed loudly and ruffled it’s feathers and took off in the direction of the woods.

Down below the girl ran desperately through the streets, her lungs burning. All thoughts of using her magic chased out of her brain by a shrieking fear of the eternal. And what could she do without her torque or the sword? All she could do was run and hide and prey to the goddess that birthed her. The sounds of the black hooves and the devil whinney of that black mare grew faster and closer and louder and shook the earth with terrible fury.

“Wake up you big bastard” A strange small voice said. “You’ve got no time to be laying about”

Cur’s eyes fluttered and then opened wide. His eyes bulging as he stared at the sky seeing nothing but a blinding bright light and then closing them again tightly.

He rose and hunched forward in a sitting position and rubbed them with the large palm of his hand.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know” The little bird said. “It’d didn’t take me long to find you, a naked giant lying in the forest is hard to miss from above.”

“You were supposed to be watching” Cur groaned and looked at bird in the form of the bird bobbing around on the ground.

“I was watching but something more interesting caught my eye.” The bird seemed to cock a cheeky grin and wink.

“A wench is it?” Cur growled scanning the grove which was now empty and placid and looked like it had never been home to a cottage of any kind.

“Aye, a cumbly wench, a familiar one at that.”

Cur spat on the ground “The fool.”

“Quite right, she must really want her sword back, good thing you didn’t take anything else” The bird laughed.

“Should have let me kill her” He said as he found his clothes lying in a heap in the grass under a birch. He dressed as quickly as one can with a single arm.

“Ah but if you’d killed her you’d have lost your chance at reprisal”

“What talk is this?”

“It seems our little lark has earned the ayer of none other than the black knight of Dun Bresse.”

“Dullahan is here? Why?”

“For the girl I can only assume.”

“What could he want with that scrawny wench?” Cur scoffed.

“Her head perhaps”

Cur seethed angrily rubbing his neck as if there was a faint scar there.

The crow laughed “He took your head once before and you still bear a grudge.”

“What of it?”

“A man took your head only a few nights since”

Cur grimaced growing silent and solemn, He tightened his jaws until his face looked hard and skeletal white.

“He was the first.”

The girl, frantic, tossed her light body about the streets, like a leaf in an errant and erratic wind looking for any nook to hide herself in. She fought not to stumble over herself as she heard the horse’s whine and the hooves resonating through the tight streets.

She stopped dead, her breath burning in her throat almost drooling with fear, mad with it. Her eyes wide and shaking and leaking. She looked up and saw the high stone wall of the guardhouse, one of the only two story buildings in the village. Penned in on all sides but one by the little round house huts and their thatched rooves.

She rattled for the handle and it opened easily with a yawing creak and she fumbled into a large square eating hall. Looking around goggle eyed she spotted a stair case and fell up it as she heard the horse’s cry all around her now.

Hiding in here was her best course of action. He’d have to get off the horse if he would pursue her any further and then she’d at least have some chance at escape. Or enough where with all to use some sort of spell on him.

She waited holding her breath perched on the edge of the wood and stone staircase. Looking down at the only entrance of which she didn’t take the time to barricade. Now regretting it, looking around at all the heavy wooden chairs and tables in the canteen. She cursed herself and thought to go down and hurriedly construct some edifice to slow his pace. But then what? Wait to die?

It was too late, a dull slow almost disinterested pounding on the door shook the whole building. Within no more than three strikes the door gave up the ghost and fell open like a whore’s legs.

Read the rest of this chapter on inkitt Sore eyes

GS2 Chapter 22 Duck Seazon

Ahoyhoy fellow sailors, it is I, that dude on the internet who writes stuff I guess.

Back again with more inane commentary on random books and other such pointless crap haha

I just watched Deadpool 2 and I said I wouldn’t do a review because I didn’t really have strong feelings about it, I just thought it was ok. But then I went ahead and wrote a review which I cut out of this blog haha.
Just started writing it and I got out a lot of things I thought about the movie had potential. Because one thing I hate more than a bad movie is a potentially good movie which squanders that potential and just descends to the ranks of the average. Be good or be bad but never be average.

So I’ll have that up tomorrow, shit now I’m completely out of content for todays blog haha.

Well from the get go, that new Parker novel is shaping up to be a complete return to form, even bringing back a villain I forgot he didn’t kill haha. Which is rare if you read the other Parker novels. If you cross Parker it usually doesn’t matter who you are, you end up with a toe tag sooner or later. But I guess he let him live at the end because he felt sorry for him. Which is actually kind of the whole theme  of the book he appears in.

He’s basically this loser criminal who manipulates everyone around him, either by just lying and being reverential or being so pathetic you can’t help but pity him. And I think that’s why Parker couldn’t kill him, but in the book I seem to remember it was sort of up in the air, it wasn’t explicit that he didn’t kill him it was just left to interpretation. And my interpretation of Parker is that he would have killed him without question. Parker does not fuck around, if someone is in his way he’s getting out of his way in a body bag.

He’s killed women and children in these books, he’s imprisoned mentally retarded people, he’s shot people in the back when they were running away, one of which was a woman. He gives zero fucks, he’s a cold calculated criminal who will do anything to survive and profit.

But I’m guessing what Stark is going for is that Parker is softening, getting weak, which is a good idea because it adds more tension, more uncertainty. So the power fantasy of being this unstoppable badass is slowly eroding. And this is an intentional thing since the addition of his love interest Claire.

We’re supposed to know she’s a danger to him but not care because he loves her. And that’s the ultimate dichotomy. Because if Parker was 100% this practical cold calculating machine he would never keep Claire, he would have treated her like all the other women in his life after his first wife Lynn. Just disposable.
All this time Parker has gotten by watching others like him fall because they tried to live a dual life. Balancing the two being impossible, so Parker just decided to have no life other than his criminal life making him invulnerable but isolated. But now Claire in a way is his ultimate villain, someone that weakens him but he can’t let go of, risking himself and her.

This book seems a lot bigger in scope and so far I’m really enjoying it.

As far as the witcher is concerned, I’m not really paying any attention anymore, I just turn it on when I’m gaming, the audiobook I mean. The only thing I pick out of it is that every character this guy writes is more obnoxious than the last, especially women. He goes out of his way to make all the women make me want to stab a pen in my ear. They’re just these working ‘hurr durr women can be cool too’ stereotypes, gotta respakt da wamans. It’s just so forced and corny and lame. I don’t mind strong female characters, heck I write a bunch of them, there’s one at the bottom of this damn blog post haha. But I try and steer clear of this mary sue bullshit ‘the women are just as tough as the men’ bullshit, this unearned superiority to men. I can’t stand it really. I kind of try and mock that trope with Sunday but she’s not in my mind this total generic bad ass, she has struggles with herself and I tried to make her more believable as a woman. And not just a carbon copy bad ass. I tried to make her strong but also nurturing and aloof too. I can’t be a judge of how well I did but hey haha.

Now if you’d asking me about my own writing I would get quiet. Hasn’t been the smoothest recently, day job and weather really getting in the way, it’s sort of slowed to a crawl. Can’t seem to muster the same passion I had at the start.

I’m considering a break to write something more fun until I’m in the mood again but I fear what that might lead to. My only option really is to keep plugging away and hope I don’t go mad.

Well there was something at least haha.

See you…

“Is this really necessary? I mean I’m not exactly much of a threat. I don’t even do cardio, my blood is ninety percent mountain dew! I get out of breath going to the bathroom, come on!” Murray cried as Carpenter tied him to the mison mast of the giant pirate ship in the whitefish mall.

He was whistling passing ropes back and forth wrapping him snuggly around his whole body. Murray’s soggy floppy hair hanging down with sweat.

“And why upside down? That’s just cruel and unusual, I’m getting dizzy already.” Murray continued to whine.

Carpenter bent down when he was satisfied Murray was tied tight enough. He got right up in Murray’s face with that harsh oniony breath making his eyes water. Murray tried to get away from that acidic breath burning his eyes but there wasn’t much room for his head to move. Carpenter smiled and said “I don’t want you to get in the way” He laughed and flicked his nose “Landlubber”. He stood up tall with his hands on the hips of his new red coat and pirate hat he stole off the captain of the skeleton crew.

He looked out on at the mall. All the stores, down at the fake concrete pool floor painted to look like a sea and licked his lips.

“Yoho a pirates life for me!” The little girl’s voice said.

He looked up at her, she was in the crows nest dressed as a pirate with a spyglass. “Land ho!” She said grabbing a rope and sliding down to the deck like Errol Flyn.

He put his foot up on one of the cannons and took the spyglass from her looking out at the entrance of the mall. Thousands of zombie furries were slowly pouring in. Muffled gunfire as the far off mercs tried to quell them in vain falling back to the second floor.

“First mate Cecilia”

“Cecilli.” He corrected as he came out of the captain cabin wearing a really tight stripey first mate shirt. His belly comically poking out of it. An eyepatch shifted up onto his beanie and a pair of tight leather pants completed the ensemble. “Why do I have to wear this?” He asked pulling the tight shirt away from his manboobs, giving them some air to breath.

Carpenter grinned like an evil pirate skeleton and said “Because this is your grave”.

“Sir, should we move? The choppers waiting on the roof.” Rigby said to Evergreen’s back. Evergreen watched the furries flood into the mall beneath him, surrounding the ice rink. He breathed and thought about it for a moment. His men on the far side were holding behind their makeshift barricades for the moment. They were quelling the horde with intermittent automatic fire stopping them from reaching the second floor.

“We can hold a little longer.” Evergreen said without looking back.

Rigby made an incredulous face behind his back and said “Yes sir”.

Evergreens hands tightened on the rail of the second floor balcony as he breathed deeply watching. “How will you get out of this one Sunday girl?” He said under his breathe.

“We have to keep moving!” She screamed in TJ’s sweaty ear as she yanked his flabby arm trying to keep him on his feet.

The eviscergrator was rolling back and forth and around the giant icerink. It was watching and waiting trying to run over and mulch them like an old fashioned push lawnmower. It made crunching biting noises as it ran over the ice. If they watched it and waited and were quick and nimble they could dodge roll out of it’s path like a dark souls boss.

But TJ was getting tired of that. He was drenched in sweat and it was making him heavy and cold and his legs felt numb and shaky. He could barely stand up on the ice and Sunday knew it. A chill ran up her spine as she stared into his desperate sweaty face, she sniffed as she could feel it coming on. Tears welling up in her eyes, tired defeated tears on their way in buckets.

If she ever had a chance to live.

He had to die.

The Frenchman let out a mirthless chuckle and said “So you knew the whole time, I’m impressed”.

Carpenter grinned and walked the deck up and down. He plucked a sword out of the hand of one of the skeleton crew and said “Knew what?”

The Frenchman was incredulous, “That I was here to kill you this whole time, you knew?” He pleaded.

Carpenter scratched his beard with the tip of the sword and said “Nah, not until you just said so.” He dropped the sword away from his face and said “Why would anyone want to kill me?” He said without a hint of irony in his voice.

The Frenchman walked up to now naked skeleton captain and took the rapier from his cold dead hand. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

Carpenter smiled and shrugged like he didn’t care.

“In the last game you killed a very important man’s only son and he- why am I telling you this?” He said cutting himself off. He stumbling forward into an angry thrust of the rapier as if pulled forward by a magnetic rage. The two sword clanking together. Their faces coming close as they locked blades. Carpenter smiling with his stinking breathe.

Read the rest of this chapter on inkitt.

Duck Seazon

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