"There weren't always dragons in the Valley." Byron declares by gesturing with his smoldering copper pipe. His smooth, gravelly voice hushed the rowdy evening crowd. The stout, finely dressed Halfling drew the attention of the noisy tavern goers. Byron knew this was his chance to draw in even the most skeptical of patrons and travelers. With his trusty pipe in one hand and a mug of ale in the other, he rose to address the regulars of The Rusty Flute. Byron's rich chestnut-tinted eyes' widened with delight as he proclaimed, "Ladies and Gentlemen, you heard me right!"
The Titanic, “The Great Unsinkable Ship Sank!”
The frigid April night air filled the confined space of the cramped stateroom. Victor’s pale blue lips glistened from tiny beads of salty seawater mist. The once dimly lit stateroom fell into complete darkness; it became his steely coffin. He slowly slipped away into a semiconscious state. Blood-curdling cries of help echoed throughout the sinking ship’s cabins. Fond memories of his youth played through his mind.
The Narlington Chronicles Vol. 1-5
The two approaching girls moved deliberately and recklessly towards the unsuspecting Crimson Guards. Bianca’s eyes glowed with an intense aura as she, expertly in one swift, fluid action, dispatched the two men without making a sound.
The Narlington Chronicles Vol. 1-4
“Stop, Annie! I do not think I belong here.” Bianca said, trembling, “O, not another one of her rants again!” Annie rolled her eyes, sensing “Princess Bianca’s” impending tirade. Annie interjected before Bianca spoke another word, “I know you never thought you fit in, with the way you look with your pale ghostly skin and thinly fine white hair.” Annie had grown accustomed to Bianca’s meltdowns and tantrums, “I am sorry if I have tormented you in the past.” Annie deliberately stopped and turned towards Bianca, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We have to help Papa; he is not as able as he once was, and I am afraid we do not have much time left with him in this realm,” Annie’s mood turned somber. “Ok, but I need to figure some Shit out!” Bianca said enigmatically, with a resolute voice.
The Narlington Chronicles Vol 1-3
Chateau Boudreaux was a small village nestled between two intersecting mountain ranges, where Bianca La Bouchère's family had existed for many millennia. This once-thriving federation with her lineage-linked deeply and eerily to La Bouchère's namesake; however, the terrain was outwardly similar to her tragic birthplace. She escaped from overwhelming emotional and physical traumas, unleashing her on this unnatural course. The landscape was uncharacteristic, packed with lush vegetation covering the countryside, without any modern-day infrastructure, effects, or modernization byproducts.
The Narlington Chronicles
Pratt & Whitney Stadium stood approximately thirty miles from St. Narlington Neuroscience Hospital, which sat nestled in the small town of Wallingford, Connecticut. It was a world-class institution of healing and knowledge, under the watchful eye of Dr. Alistair Harris MD/Ph.D. As a tenured Chief Medical Officer, he assembled some of the world’s most renowned medical talent on the east coast. He had personally authored several cutting-edge studies in cognitive behavior. He additionally co-authored papers on the uses of psychedelic drugs to treat patients with PTSD. In what some would say voodoo science, these drugs somehow “reset” the brain by altering neurotransmitter levels, aiding in the rehabilitation of patients.
The Narlington Chronicles
Pratt & Whitney Stadium, a $4.1 million multi-use sports complex, was a venue a coach envied, and collegiate athletes wished they called home. This massive sports complex was the site of the NCAA Women's Division I Soccer Championship, featuring the favored underdogs and Northeast-10 Conference champions, the University of New Haven Wizards and current reigning champions, and Ivy League conference champs, the Yale Bulldogs. Winners of this contest would claim top billing and the coveted MAC, Hermann Trophy.
The year was 1990 and I was a wet behind the ears; a 16 yr old that was going to have his first real initiation into a little dice game called “Three Man!” The pungent odor of black burning asphalt oozed in through my open bedroom window. The sun’s rays barely seeped through the tightly packed city houses. It was a typical July day and some friends had recently graduated high school. They were shipping off for the Marines in a few weeks. The day started innocently enough with a distinct whirring and ringing echoing from the kitchen. Mom answered the phone and bellowed my name. I pick up the call; it was from my buddy Pete about going to crash Terry’s graduation party. He said “it was cool”. Since we would wait till most of his family left and it wasn’t a huge deal. My parents were super chill buy they said “definitely be back before midnight.”
A Date to Remember
The weight of marriage had taken its toll on me. It was time to punch out after five years, that was four years ago, and the days were too quiet, too bleak. My schedule was chaotic on the best of days; the only sanity was my simple daily routine, yoga, commuting, and the questionable lean cuisine. Keith had always been talking up a good friend of his.
The clouds were always thick and heavy, and would fill the room with cigar and cigarette smoke. The haze would loom over the room like a storm cloud over a body of water. The white and grey vapor always made it hard to make out what was happing above waist level. Luckily Gramps had a unique pair of wingtip shoes that I could spot from any distance.