The Witcher

Cur Lord of Light Chapter 2 ‘In the pines’

Hey,

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

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

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

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

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

See you…

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what is it you seek stranger?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you calling me a thief?”

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

“What of this nonsense, what bargain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come Daurdabla, apple-sweet murmurer!

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

Come summer, come winter,

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

–

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

April 18, 2019 0

Vampyr review – it doesn’t suck??

Is that a pun? a vampire game that doesn’t suck?

Its the damdest thing, I’ve been wanting to try this game for awhile I was just waiting for it to go on sale for the right price and it’s been yoyoing in sales for some time but my friends kept telling me not to get it. But I was tempted when it went for like 85% off but it was still over a tenner so I let it go, only for it to go on gamepass a couple of days later and what seems like a match made in heaven, I still had a week left of the gamepass trial I had.

Erm this one kinda caught me off guard, I saw some trailers for it and I thought it looked ok and then I heard it was made by Dontnod and I was like “err no”.
For those that don’t know anything about dontnod they’re the people who make the award winning millenial simulators ‘life is tumblr’ and the trumps america simulator life is strange 2. They’re basically not even games, they’re just a bunch of really autistic french people trying to make social justice passion plays with kids with magical powers for reasons in an america seen through cnn. They’re really bad and cringy. So bad I watch play throughs just to laugh at them but the idea of spending money on them is ridiculous.

I actually played dontnods first game with gameplay, at least I think it was their first game, which was Remember Me. And it was really bad, I dunno, it was just bleh, the world the characters the hook of the game, just bleh, then they release Life is Strange, it wins loads of awards and probably makes no money and that was that.

Vampyr is made by focus home interactive and they were behind the really bad call of cthulhu game and they hold the license. But they did such a hack job the studio they were working with split off with them and focus home released this shitty fps walking sim that was basically dark corners of the earth but shit. So the people that split off from them went to make the sinking city which is not licensed but it looks really good. But for legal reasons might not be able to be lovecraftian haha. I dunno, but it looks good, it actually has gameplay, so that already makes it better by comparison.

So this game did not have the best foot forward to me, it even has the voice actor who plays the main character in call of cthulhu as the main character. So it’s a really bad impression I’m getting which makes it all the more astonishing that this is probably my game of the year.

I absolutely adored it despite all my friends telling me it was boring or commie propaganda haha. I loved every minute of it and I’m going to tell you exactly why, that’s the point of reviews I guess.

There’s so much I love about it and it’s so unique, it’s hard to align my thoughts because initially I look at games and I try to categorise them. Like ‘oh this is an Assassins creed clone’ or this is a ‘gta clone’ etc. But there’s nothing to compare this to, it’s totally it’s own thing, part walking simulator part action rpg.

My best comparison would probably be a crossover between the witcher and bloodborne but good haha. Trolling aside, I loved the witcher but it’s just too long for replay-ability purposes and the choices you makes don’t feel impactful enough for me to want to redo them (also it took me forever to get all the witcher gear and I can’t be arsed to do all that again) and I don’t want to meet the person who wants to replay bloodborne.

Vampyr is the perfect length of a game and the choices you make and the builds you can design make for a hell of a lot of replay-ability. Kid you not, I started a whole new playthrough the second I completed it the first time, the only other game I did that with was probably mgs four or dead rising maybe. It’s ten out of ten for replay-ability. There’s so many choices and angles you can come at something and the builds are really fun to tinker with. The whole time you’re talking to people investigating and trying to be an apex predator vampire. You know you’re loving a game when you’re playing it and already planning for your next play through.

The storyline is honestly great, you play Johnathon Reid a newborn vampire/doctor who has to find out who turned him and find the cause of the epidemic of the spanish flu in london. Lots of twists and turns and it did subvert my expectations and also kind of blew my mind because the end boss is basically the end boss in my Cur books. I know, it’s weird that celtic mythology would make it’s way into this but it does and its awesome haha. The characters are fantastic, of course they are, they’re like central to the game. Half the game is about the characters, who you choose to kill and who you choose to spare and the consequences of that. And it all carries this sort of depression/uplifting feel of people surviving and making the best of it, the british stiff upper lip. Like you feel sorry for them and may want to put them out of their misery or you may want to help them.

Gameplay is split into two sections, you have your combat free roam exploration like bloodborne where the streets are filled with mindless ghouls and vampire hunters both want to take a chunk out of your butt and the focus is on exploring the dingey streets of London claimed by this horrible disease.

You have a witcher-esque combat system, which I heard people complain about but I liked it, really responsive, lots of synergy with the powers. You feel like a god when you get the right mix of powers and tactics, it’s great. That’s exactly how you want to feel in a game about a vampire.

But the combat is just one half of the game the other half is the sections where you’re in a ‘safe zone’ where people aren’t being prayed upon by ghouls and there aren’t vampire hunters roaming the streets. The parts where people are just trying to survive the epidemic and as a vampiric doctor it’s your duty to cure the sick and also eat some of them.

How the game works basically is you can eat certain people based on your level of mesmerism, so some people you can’t eat until later in the game where your power has grown a little. And the reason they do that is obviously just to stop you from breaking the game by just devouring everyone you meet instantly. But you can eat pretty much everyone in the game eventually. One of my defences of this game when my friends were calling it social justice bait and having really sjwy characters in it was to say well yeah there are sort of cringy characters but you can eat them. It’s like when rdr2 has the suffragette in it but you can feed her to crocodiles if you want. But in this game it’s even better because the game never intended you to feed the suffragette to a crocodile, there’s also a suffragette in vampyr but the game fully intends and prepares for you to kill her and it affects the game and your ending. It’s a really great mechanic that has such a great synergy with the world.

And honestly now that I mention rdr2 this game actually stays more consistent with it’s morality and politics with its period. In rdr2 your belief is never suspended in regard to what time you’re in, it’s very tongue in cheek and it’s drenched in modern morality and modern racial politics and social commentary. I never really felt like it was in the time it was portraying it was just a pastiche. Whereas vampyr is a near perfect period piece that handles it’s politics and morality with a bit of a progressive bent but it’s consistent and it makes you feel like you’re in that gas light era. It’s really great and even when your character spouts progressive opinions on race and gender you don’t cringe because you can just eat that person. So it creates a weird dynamic where everything Jonathan Reid says is subjective, is he saying that because he really believes that and he supports women/gay rights or is he just saying that because he wants to lower their guard for him to sink his teeth into them? He’s played very much as a blank slate and the voice actor is great. Because you can see it in like one line how he goes from soft-hearted doctor to cold blooded killer. It’s done so well in a game where you can murder someone’s child and come back and ask the parents how it makes them feel all while you and the game knows you did it. It’s eerie in a way because he knows he’s a monster and the face he wears and the things he says are just a mask. Lots of people look at that and see inconsistency, that he’s super progressive and non-violent and wants to help people but also wants to eat them. But honestly I see a person who see pragmatism in sacrifice to his hunger and also just can’t help it. He tries to be good but he knows he’s a monster. There’s even a part where you kill this guys wife and he finds out that it was you and he has to explain his hunger. So it’s as if you’re not even playing Jonathan you’re actually playing his hunger and it’s really meta because he has no control over who he eats. It makes for a great role playing experience in my opinion.

It’s such a unique game in that respect and it sort of turns you into a monster. Because I would find myself later in the game, more so in my second play through killing people not for the XP but just to see how his friends and family would react. Sometimes I’d kill people because they were evil and sometimes I’d kill people because they were good. It was a weird experience. The game sort of turns you into a kid with a magnifying glass over an anthill and lets you run wild. It’s so much fun, criminally so, it’s almost sadistic and just tickles me in the right way. I found myself having to justify killing someone and there’s not many games that make you consider that. Not just killing someone but asking yourelf why you did it.

Also it’s a little thing but another thing that makes this game so replayable is the save system, that is, it doesn’t have one. There is no save scumming in this game, you kill someone they’re dead until you start the game over, you make a decision, that’s set until you hit new game. So it adds this sense of finality and consequence. In rdr2 and witcher 3 you can load a different save in Vampyr that’s impossible, you made that decision now justify it, live with it. A little thing like that adds so much weight to your choices, it amazes me more games don’t do that. And in the second playthrough I was shocked by some of the changes to the cut scenes because some of them turned out completely differently depending on how many people I killed and who I killed, it really caught me off guard and I loved it.

Graphics are of course great, the game looks great, its atmospheric af haha. The only cons of this game I can think that jump out at me right off the bat are the fucking loading times. Oh goly gee those loading times are a fucking crime, specifically in a game where the difficulty can be punishing especially if you do a pacifist run. But that’s a minor gripe. Some weird racial choices for characters are the only weird sjwy elements and all the black people are voiced by the same dude haha. Like he doesn’t even try to do a different voice, it’s just the same guy wearing a different hat haha. I mean I don’t care but how many black journalists were living and working in London around the nineteen hundreds? Were there even any black people here at all at that time? England didn’t really do the whole slave thing compared to the U.S and when we did we put them in plantations in the Caribbean, they didn’t come to work in England as far as I know. The blacks here now are descendants of migrants who came over after world war two I think. But the french people that made this game, I guess they don’t know that haha.

So it’s really a minor gripe, it’s not really harped on, there are some indian people and that makes some sense, we’ve always had a close relationship with india. Some people were harping on the gay relationship in the game, like it was shoved in your face. Yeah I guess ‘shoved in your face’ translates to; a hidden cutscene where you have to wait and watch their heartbeats and follow them to a secluded location to spy on them. Really shoved it in my face there dontnod haha. It was so shoved in my face I had to look at a guide to get the cutscene on my second playthrough because I wanted to kill on of them to get his sword.

That’s another gameplay element, some characters have signature weapons that are more powerful versions of standard weapons, so you can plan your killing map based on what weapons you want to pilfer. Funny thing I actually got banned on facebook recently saying I was gonna kill the gay character because he has a cool sword haha. Thirty day ban for saying I want to kill a gay videogame character haha. Facebook is a joke.

Yeah so I loved it, the gameplay, the story, the characters, the world. The only things I would change is the ability to cut off that lame ass hipster beard he has haha. If you’re gonna copy witcher at least let us get a haircut but I guess barbers aren’t willing to work at night haha.

Oh yeah that’s how the game works btw. You fight and drink people for XP and then sleep to use the blood you gained and wake up the next night but during the day people can get sick and basically the consequences of what you did the night before take effect. And if you kill too many people a district can become unstable and overrun with ghouls killing everyone. So it’s a lot like a sim in a lot of ways. You really have to pick people off selectively and think about who you want to kill and who you want to spare. And you have to heal the people to keep the district healthy, another comparison to the witcher where you mix up potions to fight harder or whatever in this you make cures to help people.

Or you can just wipe everyone out and become a naughty vampire god haha. I also forgot to mention that the amount of XP you get depends on how much you know about them. Their blood gets more delicious depending on how many of their secrets you uncover, doesn’t make much sense but its really cool. Basically you have to talk to them and other people to probe them for secrets and then look around their house maybe or do a mission for them or follow them when their heartbeat raises, when they’re doing something shifty.

It’s a lot of fun, and yeah I cheated a lot looking at youtube for hints haha.

I loved this game, I might buy it when it comes off gamepass or goes on sale again. I really hope they do a sequel, I know it won a lot of awards, which it deserves. Weird thing, it’s the first game where I was playing it and listening to the music and thought ‘damn this music is good’ and yeah it won an award for it’s soundtrack. I think it made a fair bit of money too, so I hope it gets a sequel but in all honesty I’d much prefer a prequel where you play a vampire knight in the sixteen hundreds fighting the first outbreak, that would be awesome. Like the Witcher but more historically accurate but with vampires and werewolves. Or maybe they could make a spin off where you play a werewolf, that would be awesome, has anyone ever made a wereolf game not counting that morrowind expansion pack? The worst possible scenario would be just a bog standard sequel where you play Jonathan Reid again.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Jonathan Reid, the voice actor made the game, but I hate sequels where you trip over a rock and lose all the powers you gain in the first game. I hate that, it’s such lazy writing and it’s why I couldn’t get hyped for Deus Ex mankind divided, it’s just too contrived, you’re gonna tell me that Adam Jensen is such an amazing character he can’t be replaced by anyone else?

Just make a new character, Jonathan can still be in it, he could even be your maker, that would be awesome. Maybe set it in present day a hundred years later or even during world war 2, nazi vampires and werewolves, holy shit, there’s your fucking sequel haha. So those are my perfect sequels, a hundred years in the future or like four hundred years in the past or nazi werewolves haha.

Get cracking dontnod and focus home interactive, respectfully haha.

But in my opinion, this game is better than Red dead redemption 2 in almost every way. Sure it wont waste hundreds of hours of your time horse riding through empty plains and you can’t go fishing or play poker but the story and characters and gameplay are great and more importantly they serve the narrative. This game is a piece of art, it’s not just a collection of popular nonsense and pointless gimmicks. It’s totally it’s own thing and it’s great, go out and play it.

April 17, 2019 0

Cur 2 Chapter 1 ‘Rise up dirty waters’

So here it is I guess.

As I said before I kinda wanted to go understated because I could, I wanted to play it slow. I went hard in the first chapter of the first book because you really need to do that, and it was sort of to pay homage to berserk and the parts of the witcher I like. Sort of my interpretation of that iconic bar fight scene where Guts cuts a mofo clean in half with one strike.
You think I feel bad about that? Not really, it was probably ripped off of Conan first, I just haven’t read that far. But I am reading it and it’s way more interesting than the Shadow even though the stories are so much more simple and really the whole thing is plot. You just get a story and it’s like ‘Conan wants to steal thing’ so he does that and even though it’s just that simple it really works because it’s just well written and fun and you want to see what happens and how does it.

I was listening to a podcast comparing Howard to Tolkien, and how they were sort of around the same time but Tolkien was bigger because he had all this lore and he invented his own language and Howard seems to be inventing it on the fly, it only has as much lore as it needs.

I don’t really know about that because the first chapter of Conan the Cimmerian is literally all lore dating back centuries of all the different peoples leading up to the present with Conan and it was just so long that I was just like ‘fuck this’. I mean do I need to know the entire history of this fictional land to enjoy this? Is there going to be a test on this? I don’t even know most of my own history and I’m fine with that.

And it gave me the natural ‘fuck me’ sweats like ‘what if my story doesn’t have enough lore?’ I mean what more can there be? I’m adapting actual Celtic mythology and this story is sort of the dawn of the lore of their myths. The conflict between the tuatha de and the firbolg and the fomorians is the basis of their folklore and then obviously there’s more to come after.

But there’s literally only a few people that come before them and they’re all wiped out essentially so I’ve set my story at the dawn of their myths, there can be no lore because this is it. There’s nothing before this. I mean there is but it’s not lore, it’s a mystery to be uncovered in the last book.

One question that is never answered in the folklore is the origin of the Fomorians and that is a question I endeavor to answer with these books. That’s sort of the crux of the entire series, giving this mysterious race the fomorians an origin that fits with the christian historicity the stories are rooted in.

If you want a lesson on the folklore, I suggest googling it because I compiled like eighty pages of note on it and I can’t be bothered to pull it up haha.

Ok so I did the glass review and I talked about this. I liked it, building up a new character because Manannan is pretty important in the folklore he’s one of those connecting tissue characters, a little mystery a little reveal and in the next chapter I’ll be bringing back some of that bloody violent action for all that love that, me included haha.

See you and enjoy the chapter.

–

A heavy foot fell sploshing a muddy puddle, thick like drying cold blood. The rainfall a monotonous droning metronome to the drumbeat of padding heavy feet. So torrential it was it almost drowned out the sound of the sea crashing and cresting behind the ragged figure. The man wrapped clung tightly to himself and trudged his way through the downpour up the hill.

The figure was tall and dressed in a long drab coat a mutt nipping at his sodden heals.

“Aye steady on boy” A booming voice said. “We’re almost home now”. The figure said with a covetous smile as he clutched a wrapped item to his breast. The figure’s eyes were furtive for a moment to gaze over the hill and back along the shoreline at his boat resting, slowly filling with rain. When he was sure he was alone he continued up the hill to a small fisherman shack on the edge of the cliff looking out at the sea. It was a lonely shack surrounded by empty hills and valleys and flat lands lain with wet grass. The greenest grass you’ve ever seen and below churned a grey frothy sea that leapt and lapped at the land.

The shack was tiny and isolated on the edge Meenlaragh, a small fishing village on the northern coast of Ulster. The shack itself seemed to be constructed from a portion of a large ships keel. The roof of which sloped on either side to make point coming together on top forming a shape almost like a bow. The wood was dark and weathered with barnacles clinging to the sides, all manner of nets and ropes hanging outside. The door was a simple barn door bolted with heavy rusted rivets of iron.

There was a warm glow coming from it and a horse whineying.

“I’m coming Enbarr, I’m home girl” The figure shouted.

The ragged figure opened the door quickly and bundled himself inside, the dog following after shaking off the rain. The man closed and bolted his door and hurriedly threw his coat off one arm at a time so as to not let the package out of his grasp.

The man was a large and ruddy common elf with a big bushy beard, red of cheek. He was of a middle age with a barrelled chest and round gut but he held a spryness of step and a child-like twinkle in his eye. His arms were ropey and strong with large gnarled sea beaten hands. His back was broad and sloped and he walked with a creaking sound in his knee and a slight limping hop as if he was accustomed more to swimming than walking.

The merry figure beamed and almost leapt to a small cluttered reading table by his bed. The inside of the shack was simple, a firepit in the centre crackled with a blackened pot over it, bubbling with a foul smelling fishy stew. The furniture appeared to be crafted from similar driftwood as fit the shacks construction. His bed was a large but simple hammock made of nets and furs. The lack of windows and the rain beating on the roof and the sound of the sea churning made it feel like a ship out of port.

The large ruddy faced man carelessly swept away the clutter and debris that lay scattered on his table. He then carefully placed the wrapped package on down as if it were a swaddling babe. He took another furtive glance about himself as if the walls of the shack might betray him. Some crack or hollowed knot might hide an eye that spied him.

He looked at the dog who panted at his side seeming to share his curiosity and excitement.

The man licked his bearded chop and breathed deeply as he began to slowly unwrap the mysterious package. The bearded man sighed after a moment as if forgetting how to breathe. As if he feared his breath might disturb the package somehow or alert some shrouded watcher.

Carefully he unwrapped the object, and finally as it lay naked on his work table, the meagre light from the firepit glinting off of it. His eyes widened and appeared to turn bright and silver. His mouth hanging open, almost salivating at the sight of the object as it seemed to glow and hum with potential.

“Beautiful” He gasped.

–

If you want to read the rest of the chapter head on over to inkitt. Rise up dirty waters

April 11, 2019 0

Cur Chapter 18 ‘Gimme the prize’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you…

–

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

“I-I-“ The druiddess stammered.

“Sit down” Bres said firmly but softly.

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

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

“He didn’t-?”

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

“But-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bres looked around for the woman.

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

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

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

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

“Oh you are a flirt”

“As always”

“But how rarely you pay us a visit”

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

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

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

“Same as usual”

“Away with the spirits” They giggled.

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

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

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

“She has a gift for him” Bres smirked.

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

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

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

The other two looked on with cloistered dismay and disdain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

March 7, 2019 0

Cur Chapter 16 ‘The big wheel’

Yeah I didn’t get a poem in last night because I didn’t really feel up to it, I skipped my workout and felt the big sad coming on and you’d think that would be the perfect time to write poetry but it just slipped my mind and I spent the time just staring at facebook like a zombie.

So yeah finally got some more Cur out and I sort of hate it honestly. I dunno it just seems so action focused and kind of messy and self indulgent, I like it, it was fun to write but I’m not sure about it and this chapter in particular I think fails to really get across what this is supposed to be about and I hope reading some more Conan will help me.

Because I was reading that and honestly I was blown away, it’s tone, the writing, the story, it’s everything I wanted for this and more. I saw so much in it, like where the influences for Berserk and others must have come from. It’s just so rich and interesting and fucking savage.

It’s one thing that I was thinking about with the Shadow, how some of it is so boring and sanitised and Conan just isn’t. It’s raw and cool and brutal without being over indulgent or gratuitous. It isn’t gross or vulgar like modern interpretations of this kind of stuff. It’s focused in the right way.

It’s fantasy but it feels so tense and real and grounded. I just started reading it and I couldn’t put this story down and I realised I had to stop because I need to save this for when I’m writing Cur 2.

Which is on the books, right after this screenplay and then Diana 2 and then more clown shit haha.

So awhile yet. Probably towards the end of the year.

That’s all, don’t want to go over my boredness and unwillingness to read more shadow pulps, like they’re ok I just feel no drive to read them and if I want to dream about making it a tv show I need to extract and refine the elements that work.

See you…

–

“Ask him what he wants” Bres instructed one of his foot men.

The footman nodded and clasping his helmet to his head ran in shouting range of the strange man who exited the woods.

“MY LORD KING BRES OF OF INISH VEIL WISHES TO KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU WANT!” The footman shouted across the field, his voice straining against the wind blowing the grass and reeds.

“The blood of kings” Cur said.

“WHAT??” The footman balked.

Cur lifted his hand and squeezed his fist bulging all the veins in his muscular arm. “THE BLOOD OF KINGS RUNS THROUGH MY VEINS!” He bellowed and tossed his cloak aside and stood shirtless in the cool afternoon, the smell of dying fires on the wind. “WHAT BLOOD RUNS THROUGH YOUR VEINS, BRES?”

Bres began to laugh almost out of a nervous response of disbelief, but he laughed alone. His men stood frozen looking at eachother as each in turn felt as if their graves were being trampled, seeing a ghost in the flesh. His body huge and monstrous in proportion, twisted by pain and suffering they could not hope to comprehend. They could barely look away for the unnameable horror it filled them with.

The knot in Bres’s stomach that wasn’t there this morning tightened and he sneered at his men. Looking about themselves like frightened little babes for a wet nurses tit.

“I DON’T KNOW YOU!” Bres shouted from atop his mare.

“I know you” Cur said.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his horse’s mane “STEP ASIDE PEASANT!”

Cur began to laugh, a terrible haunting laugh from a flat gaunt face. As if a skeleton’s smiling jaw fell open and a horrifying mirthless pitiless noise came rattling out.

“I’ve had enough of this” Bres waved his hand at a band of his men on the edge of the procession. The five of them paused for a moment and then nodded before rattling into something of a formation. The sounds of their armor clanking like nervous teeth.

Cur watched them and they watched his chest rise and fall steadily. His vicious body looking like a piece of petrified wood, hard and gnarled and scarred.

But these weren’t peasants or bandits, these were trained fighting men of the Tuatha de’. They swallowed their fears and thoughts of his skin being as tough as bark, notions of whether or not a sword would even penetrate. Falling back into routine and order, their training carrying them forward without thought or fear. Just muscle memory pulling them forward as if on strings.

The elven soldiers spread out a long a wide arch in between Cur and the Bres, all carrying long pikes and short swords.

The one on the farthest of Cur missing arm’s side would attack first, they always did. Seeking a weakness and finding only death.

It was as so; the one soldier farthest on his stump side rushed forward with a quick light rhythmic tapping of his feet against the grass. His sword held low for an arching upwards strike from groin to neck. He rushed forward and made a loud noise in his throat expecting his target to baulk at being caught off guard stepping back into the arc of the strike.

With an unmeasured viciousness, Cur turned into the strikes arch. He chopped horizontally across the soldier’s collar bone. The blunt chopper he used could no more cut and certainly not through mail. But the force and severity in which he wielded it shattered the soldiers collarbone. Causing him to collapse to the ground almost instantly. Crumpling under the weight of the strike. A few more successive chops on the ground pulverised his head and helmet in a blink of an eye. His white elf blood caking the grass,

In the same breath the next soldier came in succession from the otherside. This one learnt from the first and did not try to force the Firbolg back. He very quickly ran with his pike aimed at the small of the Barbarians back.

Cur span around catching the neck of the spear with the crook of his blade, letting the point pass him by. The soldier froze at the sight of such speed from someone almost twice his size. Allowing Cur all the time in the world to snap the spear with his knee and elbow. He struck the soldier with one quick dull angled downward slash from sternum to gut. Moreover ripping his mail but for cutting it. It made a ghastly noise, metal straining and ribs scraping and then a splosh of hot entrails bursting onto the ground.

The third was on him in the same rhythm. None of them stopping or fighting one at time. Just one attack flowing into the next like a move in a dance or successive strikes from the same blade, wearing him down. His blade getting heavier and his lungs burning with each strike.

The third was much quicker and feinted his first strike with his light short sword aiming to come low. Then at the last second changing direction and slashing Cur across his hand causing him to drop his blade in the long grass. But failing to follow up his strike with a successive blow. The Firbolg obliged by impaling him on the broken end of the lance that had fallen at his feet.

The broken lance end was frayed and only sharp enough to splinter through his mail hauberk. The weight of his armor did the rest as Cur erected him on the long broken pike and let him slide down it using his body as a counter weight. His entrails twisting around the pike coming out the other end and splintering more.

The fourth soldier and the commander attacked perfectly in unison.

The Firbolg leapt for his blade but was stopped by an arrow at his feet. The captain was much quicker and unleashed a torrent of strikes unending and savage. The Firbolg with his quickness was only cutting his losses as each strike made contact but had no purchase but to draw a small amount of blood.

His strikes were quick but there was a pattern. They were not random nor unpredictable but a practised combination of slashes and thrusts kept almost in time to the beat of a drum. He need only slip inside that rhythm and make it his own but for the sound of another arrow knocked behind his ear.

Next there was a thrust. The Firbolg twisted his huge body with the thrust and took the captain by the wrist and headbutted him hard across the bridge of the nose. He drove the tip of his sword into the ground and snapped off the blade with his foot.

Moving the dazed captain like a puppet now. He forced the broken sword and hilt still in his hand up under his chin and the jagged blade through the top of his skull.

Seeing the captain was dead the archer let loose without fear of injuring his comrade. Cur caught the tip in his open hand, the arrow piercing him right through his palm.

He closed his fist to snap the shaft and with his teeth tore out the arrow head.

Cur croaked a wicked vindictive smile crossing his bone white face. “Now you die”

“WAIT!”

–

This is just a little teaser of the full chapter. Read the rest of the chapter over on inkitt by following this link. The big wheel

February 14, 2019 0

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

December 12, 2018 0

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

November 15, 2018 0

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

November 8, 2018 0

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

November 1, 2018 0

	Ryk Brink on Review of the Benchmade Harley…
	Upashna on Alabama
	Jillianne howard on Review of the Benchmade Harley…
	The Awesome Dad on Rain drops
	Ryk Brink on Us – Movie review

	Ryk Brink on Review of the Benchmade Harley…
	Upashna on Alabama
	Jillianne howard on Review of the Benchmade Harley…
	The Awesome Dad on Rain drops
	Ryk Brink on Us – Movie review

Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.

Tag

Cur Lord of Light Chapter 2 ‘In the pines’

Vampyr review – it doesn’t suck??

Cur 2 Chapter 1 ‘Rise up dirty waters’

Cur Chapter 18 ‘Gimme the prize’

Cur Chapter 16 ‘The big wheel’

Cur Chapter 14 ‘Love thine enemy’

Cur Chapter 12 ‘The burning of the temple’

3 Ring Samurai Part 2 Chapter 4 ‘Imaginary Folklore’

Cur Chapter 11 ‘Nightcrawlers’

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