Sworded Tales

As Kurn moved in the direction of the battle’s western edge, he was met by Zulian and Rôhn emerging from around a cluster of trees.  The Dwarf seemed fine, though Zulian appeared to have faired no better than Borlak or Kurn at the mandibles of the great insects.  Striated tears could be seen along the clothing of her midsection along with the telltale glisten of the Ankheg’s volatile saliva.  She waved off any aid that was offered at the moment in favor of discussion.

“No sign is given that any of these creatures moved away from this site overland,” she said, “Though we cannot know to what extent they have tunneled beneath us.” Continue reading

The terrain surrounding our home is flat.  Liquid flat.  One might even say superflat.  Such an environment is ideal for biking.  No hills is a wonderful thing, and we bike wherever and whenever we can.

However.

We are also in an area with fickle weather patterns and a great deal of wind.  That combination creates the stunning propensity for the sensation of always riding into a headwind…

Always. And all ways. Continue reading

Wu-Wu Fan was a scribe for the Sacred Order of Monarchs.  Not those that ruled the kingdoms, but those that ruled the monastery gardens, flitting on delicate wings.  The Great Transmutation was a lifelong study for the monks of the Order.  From nothingness to formative egg.  From devouring caterpillar to devout cocoon.  From majestic monarch back to nothingness.  Enlightenment in all stages of life brought harmony with self and surrounding.

Wu-Wu Fan had only recently evolved into her caterpillar form.  She devoured the written pages before her, scribbling the archaic writing into legible and durable translation.  The circle of life for the written works, too, honored the Great Transmutation.  One sheet after another passed through her, as the caterpillar ratchets through the foliage, and the knowledge of the ancients accumulated. Continue reading

There were dreams then.  Or what Gordon presumed to be dreams, for his world had long ago ceased to touch upon what he considered reality.

A tree made of butterflies, skeletal at its heart but feathered with a million wings the size of his head.  He would have dismissed them utterly had not the trembling earth with its sulfurous exhale sent the host of insects fluttering skyward in a cascade of creams and greens. Continue reading

Gerard laughed and clapped his hands, “Outstanding.  Your mother would be so proud.”

Merinde’s features darkened.  “No.  I don’t think she would,” she said, turning away to gaze off into the distance. Continue reading

“You’re shitting me.”

“No ma’am,” Carl said, “Kaye actually fired off a couple of battle preps, thinking something big was incoming.”

Andi covered her mouth and tried not to laugh.  She was not very successful.

“It’s okay, you can enjoy it,” he said, “Hell knows we did when the truth came out.” Continue reading

Kurn’s howl of pain as the creature clamped its mandibles with full intent of severing his leg at the knee was bitten off into his own fierce snarl of determination.  His knuckles blanched white with the force of his grip upon his embedded sword.  His neck corded as the rain pouring down his face mingled with sharp sweat; with a chitinous crack he wrested the sword free from the creature and lifted it to his full reach.  That the creature had firm hold of him had one advantage — it couldn’t dodge.  Kurn slammed his sword point-first into the creature’s back with full intent of taking its head off. Continue reading

Cleaning house.  An interesting turn of phrase that embodies getting one’s shit in order, tightening up the ranks and rectifying a long standing obstacle or wrestling one of the monkeys latched onto your back.  The exhilaration felt after a good house cleaning always seems to overshadow the perceived weight of the task which had loomed insurmountable.  Yet, we never seem to see the freedom which awaits around the next bend, more content to rationalize the status-quo of the burden.  There is always so much else that requires management on the ever scrolling list of priorities.  Right?

Bullshit. Continue reading

Xorton was more of a nuisance than a menace to the town of Shifting Wind.  Somewhere in the hulking brute’s past, his bloodline was touched with that of Orc, and speculators thought that a taint of Ogre was mixed into his lineage as well.  Whatever his bastardized heritage, he stood well over seven feet tall with the physique of a small frigate.  As is often the case with such extremes, his intellect was equally lacking, but he had the dreamy heart of a child.

The local constabulary devised a means to manage the good-natured man-child, who by all accounts was relatively sedate if his belly and mug were kept full.  Hunger had a way of bringing out the nastier side of this beast though, and after a few broken bones and considerable property damage over the years, the issue needed addressed. Continue reading

Gordon’s alarm was going off.  The shrill trill slicing into his sleepy warmth.  One flapping arm found no nightstand, but was greeted by the sodden earth and the crush of leaves.  His eyes snapped open and he stared along the forest floor that served as his bedding.  The sharp singing of a nearby songbird brought his displacement into focus, and he lifted his head, searching for remnants of the corpse which had snatched him.

Only the rich visage of nature stared back.  He plucked a slug off of the back of one hand and rose to his feet with a weary creak.  The ancient forest around him was awash in a muted glow.  The high canopy shielded the mighty trees which ranged as far as he could see.  The slow turn and stare he made came to a halt as a man stepped into view. Continue reading