The Eyes of Wisdom
I lay on the cold, dirty wooden floor. I could barely stand and I was sure that I was, at least temporarily, deaf in my left ear. I reached to that side of my face and it was sticky with blood - probably from a ruptured eardrum.
Prelude - Act I
The house and barn were ablaze, she could hear the animals, screaming as they died. She could see her father dead on the ground. His skull was crushed by their leader’s hammer. However none of the field hands were to be seen, they had either fled or more likely been butchered. Her sisters were crouched behind her as she brandished a pitch fork in a vain attempt at defense. Hard, dirty and ugly men surrounded them. Surrounded them and leered. Though the worst by far was their leader – her father’s murderer – a large man in dark armor, which looked smokey gray in the shadows from the fire, wielding a massive hammer, larger than any sledge or maul she had ever seen, her father’s brains and blood still shown wetly on it in the fire light. However, the worst part about him was his face even in the light from the burning buildings she could see the skull paint and filed teeth. His eyes glittered like stars in his black sockets.
It is blackest night and I am in dark water. But this water, it is not water, it is something else - a viscid, clinging liquid. It is one moment cold, the next warm. I start to sink but there is an island next to me and I grip it’s shore. Island is a generous term, more of a sandbar really. But I am thankful for it nonetheless.
Part I: The Summoning of Xanzu I wait until the stars are right and the portents most favorable. I lock myself within a chamber in my sanctum, one that I have dedicated to summonings – here I have called creatures from dark and distant realms, beings that are mind rendering horrible or heart numbingly beautiful. These are what common folks would refer to as ‘demons’ and ‘angels’. I assure you that these words are an oversimplification. Such beings cannot be encompassed by mere words. However, this time rather than just call something to our world, my overall plan is to travel to another. A dimension of chaos and rage. A place of horror. I will travel there to bargain for the answers that I seek.
The Nine Crimson Stones
This was then… Ezokarrian longed to rest. The march in the wilderness had been hard. The cultists had been determined, and their losses had been heavy. Dozens of his warriors had fallen to the witch-cult and their twisted minions. Oh, they had defeated them, put them to the sword all right, but they were a determined foe, to say the least. Determined, and... disturbing.
The First Time We Met
The woman is younger than me. Much. At least 20 or more years. But her eyes are old. Old, tired and brown. She is dressed like one of those proto-hippie, ren-fest types. Loose clothes, frumpy looking, her nose is pierced. A ring in the right nostril. Her ears are also pierced multiple times – in fact, a lot. Her hair is straight, straight and brown. She is not pretty. Nor is she ugly, just…plain. She smells. A bitter spicy smell, mixed with human stink. I do not like it. She is a witch. I do not know HOW I know this, but I do know it, it is almost like I feel it at an instinctual level. Not in the hipster Wicca sense, I mean the real McCoy. I also know that she is scared…no, not scared. Terrified. I do not know HOW I know this, but I do know it. Maybe that is what I smell on her? The stink of fear?
The Kindly Grandmother
The house was old, very old. Cluttered and lived in. It looked like something from an old black-and-white picture in the country. A place from an earlier, better time. Oh it was a harder time to be sure. People were poor and they had to work hard. But it was a better time. A time before the rot took hold and we became the dystopian degraded folk we are today…
The Seeker in Crimson - A Fragment
The Seeker in Crimson - A Fragment: In my dreams my mind touches his - a repository of sour alien thoughts and ambitions. And to think he fears me? "He" is Viz'Magyar, or that is the closest my fragile human mind can translate his name. He is the Seeker in Crimson. For human generations he has traversed the darkest corners of space and time seeking the location of Yrr'Maleek, the Ebon-king. Imprisoned for aeons in the heart of a long-dead star.
The Obsidian Cube
The Obsidian Cube
Requiem for an Unloved Hero
Requiem for an Unloved Hero: No one knew from where the Dark Man came…or for that matter, from when the Dark Man came. A forsaken corner of space and time? Some outre dimension of woe, despair and fear? Was he even from this universe? It was doubtful that even he knew from whence he originated. But did it matter? Certainly not to him…he always was and he always would be.
The Demon's Game - Part the First
Part the First: Plans Go Awry The last year has been hard. Very hard. The damnable nuns of the Silver Sisterhood have pressed their attacks, again and again. Leading mercenary companies and militia levies deep into the eastern wastes, destroying many fortresses and holds of the Demonancers, as well as depleting the cannibal tribes that the Demonancers have relied upon for their troops and support. In fact, the campaigns against them had been so successful that the Demonancers have been forced to retreat back to their last redoubt, a keep deep in the eastern wastes. It is a desperate time for the Demonancers, and their leaders, the Black Triumvirate, are preparing to take desperate measures…
Rhialla Drin had always been special, born the seventh daughter of a seventh son and reportedly descended from the fey, it seemed hers was to be a charmed life. Her beauty, intelligence and grace were further complimented by a divine singing voice. Yes, everyone said that Rhialla would not only steal the hearts of many a young man, but that she was destined for great things