Bewitched I lie restlessly,
Alone at night I wonder,
Be it love or devilry,
Is it fate or a blunder?
In my dreams it’s effortless,
I’m just holding you tightly,
Nothing, only tenderness-
Exists and it burns brightly.
On its face so simplistic,
To kiss you and feel enriched,
Is that banal? Truistic?
To desire to be bewitched?
Fulfilled, I dream endlessly,
Of feeling more than hollow,
Loving someone wordlessly,
It’s easier to wallow.
In pain and in misery,
Than to let your heart open,
To skulk away gingerly,
To let things go un-spoken.
I pray God is merciful,
That love and hope can rebuild,
And I know it’s fanciful,
To hold you and feel fulfilled.
Wanted someone, somebody,
To love and hold back nothing,
Love and light she’d embody,
And I’d feel righteous loving.
Her gaze would bring contentment,
Her touch sparks a warmth inside,
In others stokes resentment,
When they see our hearts collide.
The day went on endlessly,
And despite this it daunted,
That you’d be there breathlessly,
Just to make me feel wanted.
Meeting, is that possible?
Could the stars and fates align?
Would love best all obstacles?
I pray that’s it’s God’s design.
To kiss your lips lovingly,
To make my arms your shelter,
Declare our love blushingly,
Feel our hearts grow and swelter.
Love I don’t want another,
Your heart alone I’m seeking,
A world of love uncovered-
On the day of our meeting.
Damsel, hold your traditions,
Your beauty and your honour,
Your love my one ambition,
Please I can’t wait much longer.
Your lips are sweet perfection,
Like two ripe cherry blossoms,
Don’t shy from my affection,
Please take me to your bosom.
Your skin soft and marvelous,
Your eyes gorgeous and ample,
Lose myself for carelessness-
In those splendid eyes damsel.
Pain; the words lights up his brain like a falling star. Pain; the one thing that kept him alive, kept him clinging on, reminded him what he had to do, who he was doing it for, all the pain, the endless pain.
Pain. Gone. Pain. Gone.
The pain was gone.
Cur awoke from his dreamless sleep, feeling nothing. Not cold nor heat, the pain was gone. The pain he had become accustomed to, the pain that was so familiar, the pain that had become his friend and only ally, the reason he woke, the reason he slept. His constant companion reminding him that there was still life in him. Still love, somewhere buried deep down under all the pain, all the scars, the broken bones and blood.
But it was gone.
“Awake, marvelous” a voice above him cooed, and as he spoke the sound of metal implements jossling excitedly could be heard just out of sight. “So this is the one that made Ogma the silver tongued so pretty” The voice laughed mockingly “And shortened that silver tongue no less”.
There was a silence, the sound of a blade scraping against metal. Cur opened his eyes but could only look up and all he saw was a cold flat stone. The room was dark, it was night time perhaps. He could feel a slight chill coming from a crack or window.
“You came to kill me, did my father send you?”
Cur strained and grunted as he felt his bonds tightened at his wrists and ankles and neck. His wrists.
A strange feeling, a phantom hand reaching out for nothing. He cast his gaze down and to his confused horror an arm of flesh and bone replaced what once was silver and filled with pain. He felt dreamlike and painless and almost giddy.
“What did that whore give me?”
“She tried to kill you but it seems death has no sway, it doesn’t want you. And that whore is my sister”.
“Then you are already dead” Cur cackled. His booming laugh filling the dark low ceilinged dungeon.
“I’ve had some time to examine this weapon of yours.” He said as he walked around the table Cur was strapped to. In his hands he held the silver arm, a small lantern dangled from his hip and was the only source of light.
Cur strained to follow his path with his fierce feral stare, like a caged animal waiting for moment to strike. The walls were damp, almost dripping, stained red with rust or blood and he could see the tuathan’s breath hanging in the air. The barbarian saw out of the corner of his eye a table next to his head full of bladed tools and implements. He could feel air but from his limited vantage could see no windows.
“Funny isn’t it? That I would use the technique I planned to use on Nuada on the very man that took his arm and his throne and started all of this.”
“I also took his head” Cur laughed wickedly.
Miach swallowed that bitterly but tried to hide his disgust. He regarded the arm clinically as one might a piece of art or some kind of experimental device. “Still it is rather elegant” He looked at the giant laid out on the operating table “Far too elegant for something like you”
Cur strained against his bonds but his new arm was atrophied, it was weak and had little feeling in it.
“I think I’ll keep it, as a trophy” Miach said as his footsteps echoed out of the dark dingy room taking the only light source with him. Leaving Cur alone to painless black slumber.
Hemlo humans.
Not much to report really just been writing and thinking, more poems and prose from your boy. But yeah been feeling really good, like better than I’ve ever felt.
Not just because I’m in love but I feel like I have some direction, a real sense of purpose. I dunno, it’s hard to process, I think if I tried to to lay it all out and really think about it I’d lose my mind.
I feel a pull from something or someone that I can’t explain and it’s so real and good and wonderful, I just don’t ever want it to end. And part of me doesn’t even want it to start because it’s so big and so powerful I feel like it might swallow me, like I might lose myself but then I think maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe that’s how it was always meant to be, to be one with someone and become something greater isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?
I dunno, I don’t wanna jinx it but I prayed for this, literally. I dreamt about this. I never thought this feeling could be real, maybe I’m still dreaming.
Anyway that aside, we have the time skip here as you can see, so things are about to get real, the birth of the ‘chosen one’. As far as my reading, I finally got around to reading that Parker book they made into a shitty Jason Statham movie and it wasn’t that much better, I mean it was better but not by much. It was both more action packed and cool and also more boring and anti-climactic. The ending was a total wash, I expected a tense tactical fight and it just fizzled out, it was sort of pathetic, totally lost me. But I see why they made a movie out of it, probably the only Parker book where there was a character J-lo could play haha. I mean this is the most lines a woman has ever had in a Parker book, probably why it was so boring and shitty haha.
It was ok, it just wasn’t that special, I didn’t feel a real tension or mystery at all despite Parker being in a weakened state should’ve heightened things and it just didn’t. I dunno, it just wasn’t very gripping, not as engaging as the other books.
But I finished it and I’m back to reading Elric which is always pretty good. I mean it’s better than the witcher haha. Watching paint dry is better than the witcher haha.
It’ll never be as cool or as gripping as the first Conan story, that was bad ass, I wish the witcher books and Elric and even the rest of Conan was as cool as that haha.
Anyway.
See you…
–
Six months later.
“Mother, mother?” A small pale boy called in vain alone on the dingy streets of the once shining city of Murias.
“You are alone child, no one wants you, your own mother died at the sight of you” A fowl hissing voice said.
“Filthy halfbreed”
“Look at his skin, how it shines.”
“Like a fish!”
“Disgusting”
“Fomorian dog!”
“We should cook him up!”
“Your mother was a whore who laid with a fish!” A voice laughed.
“No mother, mother, where are you?” The boy called, his voice ringing through the empty streets of the shining city, the one of four that flew above the heavens in the lap of Dannuu herself.
“She is dead child, you are alone now… and forever”
Suddenly a stirring in the darkness as one falling off a log stirs in terror, the only sound the flicking and cracking of the dim dying fire. A figure stiffly shifting in the darkness groaned. The man rose from his seated position of waking and walked slowly over to a grand fireplace taking up a poker. The lithe man stabbed and prodded at the fire hatefully as if it had wounded him in some way. The pit spitting back at him sparks and flashes of vicious bubbling light. Illuminating the potmarked scarred face of Bres the once beautiful, king of the tuatha. His face at once was talked about throughout Inish Veil. Now cursed by the bard Coirpre, the treacherous half-blood king hides in darkness for fear of losing everything. For only a perfect king can rule the people of Danu.
He stood solemnly over the fire, the light glinting and lighting up his face in a hanging mirror over the pit. He sighed and touched his disfigured face and cursed under his breath. “Coirpre, how I wish I’d seen you die, I wish I had been there when the Fomor stripped the flesh from your bones. For the fomor care not for poetry.” Bres hissed to himself in the dark. The mirror shone strangely for a moment and a ghostly figure appeared there for a passing second.
“My son”
Bres turned in fright but there was nothing in the dark waiting for him.
“Who goes there? Babd? I told you not to disturb me witch!” Bres cursed.
“It is me my boy, my beautiful boy” The soothing ghostly voice said.
“Mother?” Bres gasped “How can this be?”
“I call to you from beyond death to deliver a warning and give new hope”
“A warning?”
“One comes that would take all this that I bequeathed you.”
“Who? Who would dare?”
“Nuada Airgetlám”
“Impossible!”
“It is true, he returns to take your rightful throne. But do not fear, you must away to your father’s kingdom, he will aid you.”
“My-my father?”
“High king of the Fomor, Elatha.” The specter held out it’s hand “Take this ring, so he may know you and go quickly.”
Bres reached out his to the specter and it’s ghostly hand slipped the ring onto his finger and it fit perfectly. But the moment the ring was on his finger there was a loud ruckus from outside of the keep of Dun Bresse. The sound of something akin to a battle but then just silence and then shouting, jubilant shouting.
Bres rushed to his tower so he could see what was going on outside by the stars and fire light of the many sconces and braziers lighting the keep.
Amassed was a great gaggle of peasants. A veritable army carrying farming tools and torches as weapons and shouting foul slogans. Some Bres was sure were reciting the poem of Coirpre himself, loudly and more vulgar than was intended by the dead poet.
Bres tightened his jaw as he watched this procession “Guards!” He shouted from the tower, almost immediately a group of armed guards rushed to meet the horde with spear in hand. But something stopped them. A name and a white horse and the man on that horse slowly trotting into the brazier’s fire light. The torches of the peasants parted to allow this grand figure to pass to the front of their grim procession.
A shining tall slim figure in white and gold riding. In his hand he raised the flaming sword of Nuada. The Claíomh Solais, shining brighter than a star, the light from it so bright Bres swore he could feel it’s glow on his marked face.
“Nuada!” Bres whispered to himself. And as he himself acknowledged who it was before the keep at Dun Bresse. So too did the guards, all in turn dropping to their knees at the sight of the once and dead king in his divine perfection.
–
Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/12
Henlo, back again and I still hate wordpress’ new format haha. I mean wtf is this shit bro haha?
Ok so got more content, coming pretty hard and heavy with it recently, especially the poetry as you may have noticed. More of those shitty haikus from chopped up songs but now Bardic poetry straight from the motherfucking heart.
Let’s just say I have a new muse but I don’t wanna jinx it. It’s already too perfect to be true. I never even considered writing bardic poetry again, I thought the first time for the book would be the last time, but I dunno what happened. Just one day the haikus weren’t doing it for me anymore. They weren’t enough to capture how this person made me feel. They weren’t big enough and they didn’t speak to my blood, to my ancestors like this did.
I realised I was sort of larping and losing connection to something writing japanese poetry, I mean I still love it and won’t let it go, but I’m not japanese, my ancestors aren’t japanese. I mean they’re probably not irish either haha. But they’re certainly celtic.
Something inside, this person awakened a love for my ancestors, a love for the land and people, something calling back to an ancestral past I never felt before and I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t get a grip on it with a haiku. I need to use the bardic style to properly put my feelings into words.
I don’t know what that means and I hate to speculate so soon at risk of sounding like the fool I know I am.
But yeah, I dunno, I just… sigh.
See you…
–
Cur’s mocking laughter echoed through hall where no other sound existed.
“Come now, come to die” He cackled mirthlessly.
“No Firbolg, he cannot be beaten” Tuan shouted from the spiral staircase. “We must away!”
“Away where beast? We fight in Magmel itself. There is no escape but through blood.”
“Perhaps there is another way.” A strange tittering voice whistled musically and seemed to be all around them like a flock of birds appearing out of thin air.
Suddenly the entire wall of the dining hall turned to autumn leaves and exploded outward. The masked men were knocked against the other wall of the castle and destroyed instantly. The boy left unharmed stared at the gaping hole in the castle wall cleared away as leaves falling into the ocean and the rocks below.
None of them could believe their eyes as with the leaves had come a giant beast standing nobly in between the carpet of maiden corpses.
A huge majestic stag stood between all gaping eyes. And atop the stag a rider in pale green armor, a helmet topped with branches that looked like the horns of a mighty deer. An axe at his hip of some alien construction and a harp on his other that gleamed with gems.
Balor was awe struck but his instinct was to kill whatever it was that had intruded in his castle. The childs face distending as before in a horrible silent scream as the eye emerged again.
The rider unhooked his harp lackadaisically and played a soothing tune. The melody taming the eye as it shrank back into the aspect of Balor which became limp and motionless.
“Alas I have come for you Firbolg” The strange green rider said in a loud jovial tone as he re-sheathed his harp.
“Who are you spirit? How would you die?” The barbarian hoarsely croaked.
“I would’st not die last of the Firbolg for I am life and life I once gave to you when you lay dying.”
“Cernunnos?”
“I know not this name sir, I am known as Bredbeddle” The spirit said, his voice full of mirth.
“The horned one sent you?”
“I know not of this horned one you speak” The riders voice was playful and full of jest.
“No games from you trickster of the woods. What have you come for?”
“I come for last of the Firbolg, I come as there is one that would meet you and put you on the path to your destiny.”
“Is this not my destiny, to be here now, to slay this Balor?”
“No last of the Firbolg, it is not his time to die nor is it yours.”
“Away with you woodsy one, I care not for your ‘destiny’, I care only to slay my enemy”
“But there are more enemies you may slay last of the Firbolg, but what of the one you lost, think to her and what it would mean to have her back.”
“Do not play with me trickster!”
“It is true what I say, you will be reunited with the one you love if you follow the path that I lay out for you”.
The Firbolg said nothing but the horned one knew his answer.
“Come now, we have no time to waste” The green rider put out his hand for the Firbolg to take.
Cur ignored it and climbed the mighty stag using the strange vine-like material that made the saddle to affix himself to it.
Bredbeddle turned to the doorway. “I had not forgotten about you my friend, come now shapeshifter, this concerns your destiny too.”
The sounds of footsteps now approaching, calling and gibbering in strange tongues.
“We must hurry, my power wains while my feet are not touching the noble isle.”
Tuan leapt and in mid flight took the form of a crow and perched himself atop the antlers of the great stag.
Within moments the room was flooded with fomorian warriors with savage barbed weapons. Their dark cloaks covering little of their flabby hideous bodies but all that greeted them was corpses and leaves.
–
Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt please and thanks https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/11
I’m back, kind of, not really, I died, I’m a ghost haha.
Yeah well I feel like one anyway. Been a pretty rough couple of months for me sort, not really I guess. I dunno, just not been in a good place mentally and it doesn’t seem to be getting better. I’ve been struggling for along time dealing with I don’t want to say depression because that’s gay af haha but I kinda don’t want to live anymore like every day haha.
It got really bad christmas time because of all the shitty christmas shifts and the rain and not my ex not letting me see my kid for over a year now, not a skype, not an email or picture, not on christmas or my birthday. Nothing. I’ve given up trying to appeal to her better nature, she doesn’t have one. I know you’re probably thinking I did something to deserve it and I kind of did, I tried getting over her and dating someone else and she didn’t like that one bit and I’ve been cut off ever since and on top of that the new relationship also pancaked, so not a great start to a pretty shitty year and I’m pleased to say 2020 is starting no differently.
Writers block mainly this chapter took me weeks crunch out and it’s just ok I guess. I was mainly trying to find a new job in another town and just start fresh and try to forget. But I was inspired to start writing again because I fell in love with someone new and it was magical for about a week before she just started ignoring for no reason and it fell apart. I don’t understand any of it but I can’t get more than two words out of her, it’s really unsatisfying. And pathetic because I deserve this, I deserve misery, I’ve done nothing to deserve happiness. But I’m not evil, I try to be good, I didn’t choose to be this way.
Don’t worry this is not a suicide note haha, imagine that a suicide note at the top of chapter about cyclops rape haha. I’d never do that, I’d never deprive my child of eventually knowing who her father is. I never knew who my father was, he died when I was a baby, I can’t describe to you what that pain feels like. Like not knowing a part of yourself, missing something you never had. Knowing your life would be totally different if he’d lived and been there to guide me. Make me into a man like him instead of the shadow of him that I fear I am.
Yeah so happy fucking wednesday anyway haha.
–
The barbarians heart pounded with vicious glee. Keeping in time with the cold wet slap of his own bare footfalls as he ascended the spiral staircase.
Nothing but dim darkness stalked his steps as he heard no sound other than that of his own breath burning in his lungs daring to be free.
It occurred to the barbarian this must be some kind of passage, that was never lit as it was not meant to be traversed often. The girl must’ve carried some sort of lamp to light her way, or if not the creatures of this castle had no need of light. Cur with his only hand balanced himself along the wall as he ascended, attuning his eyes to the murky blackness. He stopped to listen but heard no other breath, no clinking of armour or heavy clad footfalls. Only a slight whistling sound like the last breath escaping a corpse.
He pressed against the wall from which the noises came. The wall relented without much force and slid away. Still it revealed only darkness, but in the distance he could hear the cracklingof a fire and the glimpses of dancing shadows.
A tight dead end lead down a grand hallway dimly lit by distant firelight. The barbarian strained to listen for voices but heard naught but the dying fire.
At once he saw it as if a black sheet had been lifted from his eyes; a grand and grotesque fire pit. It gently smouldering in the centre of a huge high ceilinged dining hall.
The barbarians eyes adjusted to the dim light enough to see that the dining hall was not empty. But instead lining the floor were the limp bodies of what could’ve been hundreds of young women.
The Firbolg eyed them coldly, noting their garb, they were young fair women. Some full tables of women with just red hair and another with blonde and another were brown and raven haired. They wore black robes and appeared as Tuatha or even human. Their skin took on a white bluish glow like the scales of a fish and Cur knew they were Fomorian or some mix thereafter.
But more pressingly, they were most certainly dead.
Each their lips wetted with some drink that had been the murderer. The last of the Firbolg did not dwell on this good fortune, Cur merely let out a low mirthless chuckle as he waded through this newly made mausoleum. The door at the far end of the dining hall beckoned him. Cast as it was in the finest bronze and gold leaf with crystalline reliefs in the surface, making it shimmer like that of an undersea gem on a reef.
He placed his hand on it and felt it relent as the wall of the passage has before. He grinned and laughed as he forced it open, chuckling wickedly as he stalked the crystalline staircase. The walls too of the tower were made of an almost translucent stone which no doubt was forged by some form of magic.
The barbarian climbed the tower tirelessly, grinning like the devil ascending from the pit on a crystal ladder. Looking out he swore he could see the black abyss of the night’s through the crystalline stone. The moon full and wide and beaming at him and then suddenly ducking behind a thick cloud bank to hide from the Firbolg’s gaze.
At the top of the tower the barbarian came to a door. A small door which rested ajar but only a crack allowing but a sliver of silver moon light to bleed into the crystalline stair case.
The Firbolg grinned with anticipation. His blood rising and falling with the tide and the moon at his back watching sheepishly, a vile satire he slowly pushed the door open.
The moon shone through a large oval window shaped as if it were a silvery mirror of the sky. The cloaked moonlight hung suspended by a light myst before it fell on a bed fit for a queen, or a princess.
Upholstered in a rich sea green silk, silks of the deepest blues and emerald made up the bedding, they seemed to shine in the moonlight like scale. Each pinprick of light dancing on the material as if it were the bed of a sea covered in precious gems. And the most precious gem a giant emerald that was an eye of a girl.
It was not a trick or an illusion, her hair cleared from her face the maiden was beautiful. Hair as soft and as pale as milkweed but as full and as bodied as the head of a dandelion or a sea anemone. Tustled as it was as she stared dough eyed with her one giant beautiful eye at the barbarian heaving in her doorway. She raised herself on her forearms in her thin white silken night gown. Blinking with her one green eye in the middle of her forehead above a pert upturned nose and pricked ruby lips. Her skin so soft and white it was almost blue, and when the moonlight hit it it seemed to become as translucent as the stone that made up her tower.
“What are you doing here?” The familiar whispered voice said.
But the Firbolg had no sympathies nor words for the girl. For he could hear nought over his own heart beat pounding in his ears and the rushing swelling tide hitting the rocks below. The moon light filling him with purpose as he lurched towards the bed. A sardonic low cackle in the back of his throat rising and a grin spreading across his wicked demon face.
–
Read the rest of this chapter over on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/8
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Darkly Dreaming Demographic. 
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