Tag: Fantasy

The Arrow and A Mage

Hey there, everybody. Before I got to work on some stuff today, I wanted to do a little warm up to get the creative juices going. I decided to go back onto Merriam-Webster to get the Word of the Day for March 25th 2021. Today’s Word of the Day is Hobbit. I hope you enjoy!

We expected to be under attack when we planned to venture through the forest, especially since we were deep within enemy territory. Just from walking through for a few minutes, the trained eye could easily identify perfect ambush openings and blind spots. The wide array of green shrubbery, old and new roots and trees growing toward the sun, and the calls, cries, and cawing of the hundreds of animals dwelling in the forest was a true sight of nature. Too bad we didn’t have time to go sight-seeing.

“Will, see anything?”

“Nothing on my end,” Wilheim calmly replied. “Keeping the bow out just in case.”

Just like him, I kept myself ready should we encounter the enemy, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. “I don’t blame you. Just keep moving, the stronghold shouldn’t be too far out.”

Continue reading The Arrow and A Mage

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A King’s Fill

This was a spontaneous idea when I sat down to get some work done for the day. I was dry on ideas and I needed something to get me going. I decided to look up the word of the day for January 20th, 2021 using Merriam-Webster. It took me longer than I wanted to get it done (thanks to random distractions and constantly scrolling through YouTube) but I actually like what I got out of it. I think I may come back to it and expand on it.

If you guys like the story and would like to see more of it, let me me know in the comments. And if you would like to see more Word of the Day stories, let me about that as well.

Today’s Word of the Day from Merriam-Webster is Gulosity.

Sir Knight Reginald stood at his post in awkward silence, along with the rest of his castle guards. They all didn’t stare down the aisle of the throne room that lead up to the King and Queen’s thrones. Some looked up at the high archway ceiling that seemed to reach the sky, others darted their eyes as they watched one another. Nobody said a word, just standing there, listening to the lip-smacking and monstrous sounds coming from nearby.

“Another plate, peons!”

Sir Knight Reginald glanced to his left and saw the King waving around an empty plate. The King threw the plate, shattering it inches away from where Reginald stood. All along the carpet that traveled from the main door down to the thrones, shards and chunks of plates and dishes littered it, turning the red carpet in to a white spiked trap.

The throne room fell quiet for a moment. When the King didn’t receive another plate of food, he screamed again, “Where is my food? Bring me my plate!”

Seconds later a slim man walked in, cautiously carrying three plates along his arm.

“Right away, My Liege.”

The man increased his pace, hoping to avoid being scowled at. Keeping his eyes on the King the man failed to notice the path of broken plates, stepping on one and breaking his focus. He shrieked out as sharp pieces cut straight into the bottom of his foot, bringing him down. The carefully balanced food fell along with him, splattering all over the carpet. One of the guards rushed over and aided the man from the carpet, removing the piece of plate from his foot.

Sir Knight Reginald caught glimpse of the incident and ordered the guard, “Take him to the infirmary to get that wound cleaned and patched up.”

“Keep that man right where he is,” the King intervened.

Everybody watched the King as he rose up from throne and charged down the carpet, stepping on the plate shards without even a single wince. He pushed the guard aside and grabbed the man by his head, the palm of his hand completely gripping him. The man struggled and cried for his release as the King held him up.

“Bring me my food.”

“But My Liege, I’m injured. I can’t walk like this.”

The King brought the man closer, inches away as he stared at him, “Bring. Me. Food.”

With one powerful throw, the King flung the man out of the throne room, and went back to his throne.

The Queen reached over and placed her hand on the King’s lap, watching him with sorrowful eyes, “Your actions concern me. Your anger is growing more and more with each passing day.”

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The Woman Who Breathes Death (Part One)

For many years I have navigated the world of the living and walked among the dead. I have seen people die of natural causes, old age, illness, anything that would harm the human body without outside interaction. And I have been there to personally take a life that was long overdue to travel to Death’s dominion.

Balancing the thin thread of life and death is no simple task that anybody can do; only those chosen from Death himself will be able to endure the constant struggle. Becoming Death would be a curse to many. I personally enjoyed being handed the tools to literally hold somebody’s life in the palm of my hand. One such life came to mind, one that took Death’s name in vain.

My sources had quickly gathered information on my next victim, a man who goes by many names. One such name was Haegard the Rotten. I’ve been told that he often takes up a drink in a tavern well deep into the forest.

It was time that I paid him a visit.

“Aye, they be rather anxious tonight,” I replied. “They must be sensin’ somethin’ nasty a’brewin’.”

“Stories tell of crows cawin’ when death be near, when the reaper himself walks among the livin’.”

I felt myself gaining an interest in continuing the conversation with the driver.

Continue reading The Woman Who Breathes Death

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Book Review – The Sun’s Caress: A Rayden Valkyrie Tale

When most people think about the word “warrior” they imagine somebody who’s strong, well suited for battle, and loves the thrill off a fight, even if it costs them their life. And occasionally, they may not always be the brightest of the bunch, sometimes lacking knowledge and wisdom.

Rayden isn’t your average warrior.

With her journey for discovery taking her across numerous lands, seeing a wide array of faces and people, Rayden Valkyrie’s latest tale has her traveling to the lands of the Far East: Yamatainu. Having befriended Timiko, the brave leader of a band of pirates, they set out together to help bring prosperity and hope to nearby villages currently suffering from the cruel grip of war. Accompanied by Mari-chan, a quick-witted ally, Rayden’s time in Yamatainu quickly becomes not only a chance to help those in need, but a learning experience for herself. Continue reading the book review

Valencia

There was a loud banging on the front door of the manor. Even though the manor was a rather large estate, one didn’t have to knock with excessive force in the middle of the night in order to be heard.

I wiped my hands on my apron as I trotted down the marble steps to the first floor, curious as to who’s bothering us during the late evening.

Two men in armor barged through at the slightest sign of the door opening. I recognized the color scheme and weaponry around their hips.

It was the King’s patrol.

She then folded her arms and glanced at me, giving a quick nod, “Go get the paper, Yuria. I want to read what’s on it.”

“As you wish,” I humbly replied.

“We don’t have all night,” the guard announced. He eagerly shook his fist that held the scroll and urged Madame Valencia to come down to collect the paper.

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Escape

The High Kind and the Empire knew that I managed to escape the hold, but they weren’t sure about just how far I away I was. I saw a large patrol unit converging on the main gates, all armed with swords and shields, ready to attack on a moments notice.

I wasn’t in the right state to fight, let alone fight an entire army. My main priority was finding a way to escape the city without drawing attention. And do that, I’d have to disguise myself among the general civilian public.

Tossed on top of a small bench was a worn, hooded cloak. It wasn’t much, but it was able to cover everything from my head to my mid-section. If I could just make it to out of the city with this on, I’ll be okay.

There were a couple times where civilians spat out slurs of anger, but I happily ignored them.

“Arcimia. We know you’re hiding in the crowd; you haven’t escaped the Empire.”

I learned about just how far the High King would go just to protect himself. And now, I was his main priority.

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Alcoholic Elfling

There was only one thing left that needed to be done. The more I thought about it, about the pain and ache it would bring me afterwards, the more my heart would try and convince me that this was the wrong thing to do. I looked down at the half empty whiskey bottle, waiting for its mind-numbing effects to kick in. It’s been more than an hour since my last drink and still I remember everything clear as day.

As I leaned forward to pick up the bottle by its thin neck, I smacked away the flimsy, glass shot glasses I used to portion out my drinks, “You’re useless to me,” I said to nobody in particular.

I looked at the remaining half-bottle of whiskey, its powerful fumes reaching the sensitive walls of my nose; just from the smell alone I could feel the burning stream of dark alcohol traveling down my throat. I shuttered. After a deep breath to help relax, I took a swig straight from the bottle, going back for two more before my gag reflexes kicked in forcing me to put the bottle back down on the coffee table. A chain of coughs followed the hot, burning string of fresh whiskey traveling through my body.

Repulsed, I looked at what remained in the bottle: less than a quarter of it was left. It was surprising to me how big of swigs I took. I sat on the couch and let some time pass, allowing the affects of the alcohol to kick in. Minutes came and went, nearly thirty minutes went by, and still no effect on me. I could still remember the events of yesterday in clear detail, from the very first words that were exchanged, all the way down to who was the last person leaving the dump sight and what they were wearing. I was able to even recall how many crows I saw flying overhead as we put or plan into action.

Anger took over as I picked up the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey and threw it in a random direction. There was a crash sound of thick glass shattering, but it was rather far way. Regardless of where it landed I was angry that its effects were not happening to me.

“Why the hell do humans purposely poison their bodies with this garbage? It doesn’t even work as it should!” I reached for the laptop hidden under the couch cushion and promptly turned it on. Finally understanding the general basics of these newfound devices, I managed to navigate the internet and researched for various videos of humans embarrassing themselves from too much alcohol. They all end up stumbling around, tripping over their own feet and somehow ending up with the face inside a toilet hurling away their insides. In a handful of them the person took one fall and didn’t get back up, magically falling asleep right on the spot. And the very next day, they all awoke with no memory of the night before.

They all had no memory of the night before. And they surely managed to suppress any memories while they were drinking.

Then why the hell wasn’t it happening to me? I acquired much of the strongest alcoholic drinks available for human consumption, and yet I feel not a damn thing. Why?

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100 Word Story – Quick Snack

Jeffrey cautiously backed away as I casually walked closer. He kept his hands along the walls to help keep balance as he tried to walk over the boxes behind him.

I tilted my head, showing off one of my blood-stained fanged teeth, “What’s wrong, Little Jeffy? Why are you backing away? You can’t be afraid of me, are you?”

“You… K-Keep away! I know w-what you are!”

Tripping just like his words, Jeffrey took a wrong step and came tumbling down on a case of wine. I took my chance and pounced on him.

I grinned, “Your blood will do.”

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Cobblestone Captive

“How do you plea?”

Hervea spat on the ground in front of the judge’s feet, “You’ll go to hell before I plea guilty on a charge I never committed. If I die, you and your people will suffer.”

The judge gazed down at the captive Hervea, her neck exposed on a cold block of cobblestone and hands tied behind her back as she was forced to her knees. Every time Hervea tried to upright herself the executioner would kick her in the side, forcing her to cry out in agony. The judge took a few steps around and crouched down to look at the bruising around Hervea’s rib cage.

She caressed the black and blue spotted area with the tips of her fingers, making sure to put barely any pressure on it, “You’ve taken quite a beating from my personal executioner today, haven’t you? Almost makes me feel the pity for you.”

The judge backed away and snapped her fingers, the telltale sign of issuing an order. The executioner reached down and grabbed Hervea by the hair, clutching at the small ponytail on the side of her head. She screamed more, feeling some of her hair rip straight out of her head as her body weight tried to force her down. Once she reached eye level with the executioner, a flurry of punches came over her, all of them striking right in the bruised area; the last few punches managed to break the skin, causing blood to start rushing from her midsection.

“Almost.”

Hervea’s pain came out in her screams, “You fucking piece of orc shit!”

“That’s enough, Talius,” the judge spoke coldly. “You can put her down now.”

The executioner nodded, slamming Hervea back onto the cobblestone block head first.

The judge watched Hervea as she lied motionless and her face buried in the block. The judge crouched down and gently tapped Hervea on her head to get her attention, “I’ll give you one last chance. How do you plea?”

Muffled from a stone in her mouth, Hervea chuckled happily through her pain. Confusion over took the judge’s mind as she saw her prisoner’s body twitching with laughter.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Bare-handed, the judge grabbed a clump of Hervea’s hair and forced her to look up. Their eyes meet one another. Hervea continued laughing, closing her eyes for a moment. When they opened again, the whites of her left eye were covered in a dark red web-like pattern and her iris was growing a bright yellow. Her laughter came to a halt, spitting out the rock, and took in a deep breath as she spoke her next words.

“Finis appropinquavit.”

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Necrotic (Part One)

The leaves crunched and crackled as footsteps continued to walk across them. The light at the end of the darkened forest grew brighter, a flame dancing in the breeze. Through the small hole in the damaged hood, the walking stranger glanced up at the forest brush overhead blocking off the night sky. The thick leaves on the trees even seemed to be guiding the stranger towards the flame.

What awaits our stranger at the orange flame?

Clanking glasses and cheers all around as the tavern opened up for the night. One patron has a crowd of people around him as he exaggerated a tale from one of his many triumphant hunts for bandits. Although many of the listeners know the truth behind the tales, they can’t help but cheer on in a drunken daze as he described his “dates with death” and how he compiled such a large amount of gold.

At the end of his current story the crowd cried out, “What be your greatest bout with bandits, ye ol’ Hagar?”

Stroking the greying beard longer than his neck and ordering another round of ale for the entire tavern Hagar began yet another tale, this one not needing any exaggeration. Getting down from standing up on the table, he

“Ay, so listen to this tale. This be one of great intrigue, and the true meaning of ‘staring Death in the face.’ So there be I, wanderin’ through Sublime Caverns just on the other end of Mount Dreatha. I be on my way back to turn in the finger of me latest bounty for Grethian Naklak, that lisardman who was caught stealing in town. The bounty called for his ring finger as proof of his death.”

One of the listeners question, “Did he still have the ring he stole from the shop?”

Bluffing compassion and honesty Hagar let out a deep sigh and shook his head, “Sad to say, but no. I think he traded it off before being found. Nonetheless, that finger was coming with me. As I navigated the road back down the mountainside, another person approached me. At glance, it be some hag covered in rags and tattered clothes. I paid no mind, until said person stopped in my path. The hag whispered, ‘Your actions will not go unseen. I am always watching.’”

“Maybe it was somebody you saved before, wanting to thank you.”

“It be weird for Death to be thankin’ ye.” Hagar gulped down half of his pitcher of ale before continuing with his tale. “I caught a glimpse of the hag’s face through the hole in her hood. Eyes red as freshly spewed blood and skin whiter than the snow from the first days of winter. That day, I saw Death face-to-face.”

The listeners did a collective gasp, whispering to one another. Everybody kept their eyes on Hagar and was stunned when they saw the large grin on his scarred face. With a slam of his fist on the table and kicking back his seat to stand up, Hagar roared in the tavern, “Death be afraid to confront me!”

Everybody fell silent, the words of a drunk man ringing in their ears. It didn’t stop them from bursting into cheers along with him.

It’s a shame none of them noticed Death was nearby.