fantasy – Page 3 – steelstashwriting

Flash Fiction Friday 011 – The Red Crusader

Ulrich flexed his left hand as he walked down the city street. It didn’t hurt; it was incapable of hurting, but old habits and all. The sound of traffic and the hum if humanity blared all around him; however, the commotion was muted in Ulrich’s ears. His mind was somewhere far away.

“Hey, Ulrich! Man, you want a taco or what?” Jack had stopped next to a food truck and was looking at Ulrich.

Blinking, Ulrich moved by his friend in line. “Quite a wait for a mobile meal isn’t it?”

Jack laughed and have a shrug. “Master Monty has the best prices on tacos in the city.”

Ulrich craned his neck to see the menu. “Can’t be that good for those prices. How are drinks the most expensive item on the menu? Rat meat, that’s how.”

“A. Probably better than that shit you were eating down range. B. The food is legit. Monty has a taco storm in a jar. Fresh as magic can make it. Don’t get a drink here though.” Jack added. “Potions. Don’t want you popping hot when you get back to your unit.”

While Jack spoke, movement caught Ulrich’s eye. His head jerked around to see a woman walking her pet dragon down the sidewalk. No taller than the woman’s knee, it had it’s muzzle on to prevent accidental fires.

Ulrich tensed at the sight of the thing, his fists clenching. The edges of his vision began to black out before being filled with fire. His left hand began to tap his leg repeatedly while he stood frozen.

“Yo. You’re on leave. You’re on leave. Chill bro.” Ulrich faintly heard Jack’s words at first, but each sentence became clearer and clearer. After another moment or two, his mind cleared and he was at the front of the line for tacos.

Ulrich barely registered anything during the transaction. He knew dragons were pets. They were vey popular pets. Breeding the big ones was also a violation of several international treaties. That didn’t stop some people, though.

Some dictators just got it in their head that dragons were better when big and angry. That’s when units like Ulrich’s were called. USAMA claimed they were the Black Knights, and they could pretend. Ulrich was a Red Crusader, one of four knight forces in the US Army, trained and proficient in handling mythical and magical problems.

Jack guided him to a seat as he continued to flex his left hand. The sound of cogs and actuators was barely audible being magically powered and muted. Despite having no actual sense of anything in that hand, Ulrich could tell the moves of the metal didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the way the shoulder joint still rubbed burnt skin. He still had a few weeks to get used to it while he finished up his convalescent leav… man. That was a good taco.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. If you want, make sure you sign up for our newsletter and as a special thanks, you’ll receive a short story for free.

Prince Phillip – Chap. 1

I feel bad about missing last week’s #flashfictionfriday. To make up for it, enjoy chapter one of my #wip Prince Phillip.

Hey all. Life got in the way last week and I feel bad about not getting the Friday Flash Fiction up. To make up for it, I’ve decided to give you all a little extra treat this week. Here is the current draft of the first chapter of Prince Phillip. Enjoy.

The hall was colorfully decorated for the party. Golden banners intertwined with red were strung across the walls. A merry din echoed off the stone surroundings, a mix of happy voices and the plucking of a psaltery filled the air. Everyone was in a joyous mood. After all, the infant princess had just been officially presented to the lords and ladies of the court.

There was one present, however, who was only mildly interested in the baby being celebrated. Prince Phillip had little concern for the child. After all, what use did a baby have to a five-year-old prince? He was far more engrossed by the various foods and punches that were available. The thought of the return trip home was also weighing on his young mind. It took ages to get to East Thuringia and it would take ages to return home. Frowning at the thought, he attempted to wash it away with another drink of punch.

“Phillip, my boy. Come here.” The sound of his father’s voice cutting over the noise of celebration pulled Phillip from his thoughts and the lad moved towards where his father was standing with Stephen, the king of East Thuringia.

“What do you think of Rose my lad?” Hubert looked down at his son with an expectant eye. Phillip knew the look. It meant his father was waiting for a certain answer, though the boy often did not know which answer his father wanted.

“I don’t know father. She doesn’t cry much.”

Hubert slapped his large belly with a hearty laugh, his face turning a slightly deeper shade of red than his tunic. Phillip smiled, thinking he answered the question well enough. After all, he didn’t have much experience with babies outside of those the castle wet nurse helped care for.

“What do you make of that Stephen? A high compliment from a young lad I think.”

Stephen stroked a jet-black beard in quiet thought for a moment. “I am not sure what I expected, but there is plenty of time for them to get to know each other.” The East Thuringian king was soft-spoken, a stark contrast to his father’s boisterous demeanor.

“Then it is settled?” Hubert raised a golden brow at the taller king.

“Yes. It is settled.” Stephen turned from Hubert to address the hall. “My lords! If you will please settle yourselves.”

The hall quieted down and Hubert pulled his son to the side, holding the lad in front of him.

“My lords,” Stephen continued. “Tonight is a great night. We have many things to celebrate. Not only do we have the chance to officially present my daughter Rose on her first birthday, but we also have a very special announcement. We announce the betrothal of Princess Rose to Prince Phillip of Thuringia.” The hall broke out into a loud cry of approval at the news. Stephen smiled for a moment before lifting his hands for silence.

“With this pending marriage, the kingdoms of Thuringia and East Thuringia will be forever joined in bonds of brotherhood, and we shall grow together to soar like the Thuringian eagle with the strength of the East Thuringian boar. May God look with favor on this union. Minstrel! Music!”

The sounds of the psaltery once again filled the hall as Hubert pulled Phillip towards his mother. Many lords and ladies began to make their way towards him to congratulate him on the announcement. After what seemed ages of uncomfortable conversations with adults he did not know, Phillip was finally given a reprieve when attention shifted backed towards Stephen.

A funny looking man came striding forward clothed in the yellow of East Thuringia. With a high pitched but firm voice, the steward called out the name of one of the lords. At the sound of his name, the lord came forward and pledged some portion of his harvest to the king. When that was over, the steward called another lord who did similar. This continued for some time with each lord pledging some service or commitment of resources.

This display meant nothing to Phillip and he found his mind wandering. He needed to remember to ask his mother what a “betrothal” was. It seemed important. Maybe it had to do with his father’s and Stephen’s friendship. The two had been close for years. Phillip had to stifle a chuckle when remembering one of Hubert’s stories of a childhood adventure. Maybe that was what a betrothal was, a chance to grow up and have adventures with Rose.

The young prince was pulled from his thoughts by the announcement of the Thuringian fairies. Twelve women came floating past the doors of the hall and towards Stephen. Phillip’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. His nurse had told him stories of the fairies who lived deep in the Thuringian forest. Those stories had fueled his young imagination, but it was completely different to see them in person. Each fairy glowed with a soft light and bright colors. It was like watching a rainbow move across the hall.

The entire hall drew to a respectful silence at their approach. Even though the Christian God held dominance over religion, the old ways were still strong. As young as he was, even Phillip knew better than to make a lot of noise or squirm too much Not that he could if he wanted to. He was enthralled by the appearance of the fairies, so much so that he was not paying attention to the gifts that they were offering the baby princess. All he was aware of was each fairy gliding up to the princess and a gentle glow surrounding the baby before being replaced by the next in line.

The blue glow of the final fairy began to fade as she stepped back. Just then, a sudden wind burst through the doors of the hall. As it swirled around the walls, the fires in the hall flickered and roared angrily. A clap of thunder caused Phillip’s hands to shoot to his ears and his eyes to squeeze shut. When he opened them again, the hall was dark save for a faint green glow in the center of the hall. The light grew in intensity to reveal a tall, pale woman standing in its aura. She was clad in a dress as black as midnight and seemed to tower over everyone else in the hall. On her shoulder rested a raven, its head cocked to the side as it observed the lords and ladies.

“My my. What a fine gathering you have here tonight Stephen.”

“T..Tebofe.” Stephen stood rigid on the dais as he stared at the newcomer. “No! Stop!”

Two guards came running from the back of the hall with their spears leveled at the woman in black. She smoothly lifted her arm and flicked her wrist towards the charging men, causing them to fly back through the air and crash into the far wall with a sickening thud. The woman, meanwhile, let a pout appear on her red lips. “Stephen. I am disappointed at my welcome. First, I do not receive an invitation to such an important night. Then you have your guards attack me?”

“It is not like that Tebofe.” There was a slight tremor in Stephen’s voice. He took a step back and lifted his arm as if to protect himself, his hand trembling in the air in front of him. “We would never disrespect you in such a way.”

“I see.” Her pout turned to a smirk as she watched the king. While she had never moved from the center of the room, her presence seemed to close on the dais. “My invitation must simply have been lost then.” At last, she moved forward, swaying with all the grace of a serpent as she approached the cradle. “What a beautiful child. I think I know the gift I shall offer her.”

“Please Tebofe, you do not need to do that.” The color was gradually draining from Stephen’s face.

“Nonsense. I must.” Tebofe straightened and turned her head towards Stephen. “You deliberately ignore me and attempt to keep me from your celebration while allowing my sisters to attend. Your guards charge at me like I am a common thief. I must repay your actions in kind.” As she spoke, each word became colder and more clipped. Stretching a skeletal hand over the crib, Tebofe and Rose were surrounded by a black aura.

“Your daughter will grow to be a fine woman with all the grace and beauty promised by my sisters. When her beauty has ripened and she has reached the age of eighteen, on that night she will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and die.” Tebofe let out a laugh at the look on the king’s face. “Do not worry my dear Stephen. I am not without my mercy. She will be untouched by the ravages of time. Her beauty will be preserved forever.”

The dark fairy laughed again as the black aura grew. The laugh filled the hall, mingling with the caw of her raven. The shadows grew to surround her before disappearing suddenly. The fires and torches sprang back to life, but Tebofe was no longer in the hall.

Silence lasted for several seconds before erupting into a loud commotion. Stephen began shouting orders to his guard while the attending lords began to call for their personal troops. Phillip was startled by his mother shaking him by the shoulders. He had not moved the entire time, but he was covered in sweat. His breath was short and ragged. His mother grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the hall and back towards their rooms.

The remaining two days were a blur. Phillip was rarely allowed to leave his room and never without a guard when he did. Several times, he went into his parents’ room only for them to suddenly stop their conversation. He did not understand all of what he heard, but the young prince did hear that the Princess Rose had disappeared following Tebofe’s curse. The following night, Phillip saw a great fire started in the courtyard from his window. No one would explain what the fire was for, but soldiers continually arrived at the castle with wagons to toss more things on it.

The fire was still raging on their final morning in the castle. As Phillip sat in the back of the carriage, he watched the thick, black cloud of smoke drift high up towards the heavens. Long after the castle was out of sight, Phillip could still see the smoke slithering up like a snake in the morning light.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free. And as always, I mustache y’all to stay fantastical.

Flash Fiction Friday 010 – Dabaumon

The forest was dark despite the the clear, mid-afternoon skies. Torvin pulled his cloak tighter against himself to ward off a sudden chill. The old ones spoke of the Black Forest but only in hushed tones. It was an ancient place. A place still held under the sway of the old laws.

He did not like the mission that sent him deep beyond the borders of the forest. A young knight had escorted a woman into its depths several months ago and never returned. The villagers all assumed her and her escort dead. Unfortunately, the knight was from a prominent order who wanted proof of the death.

“Bloody knights and their bloody codes.” Torvin spat at the thought of Knights Protector. Easy enough for them to sit in their high towers and make demands. Poor fools like Torvin were the ones who had to carry them out.

The tracker let his mind continue to wander down it’s angry path as his feet followed the game trail. This was the most likely road they would have taken. In the distance, he heard a strange rustle. The forest had been acting stranger since the knight’s disappearance.

“Ta hell with this.” Torvin spun around and turned back towards the edge of the forest. It would be dark soon and he wasn’t going to spend the night out here alone. As he turned, his eyes landed on a strange looking tree in his path. He blinked, sure that the tree hadn’t been there before. Tentatively, he stepped forward towards it.

The tree was gnarled and twisted by the wind. Jagged branches grew all over, clawing the sky in dark malice. It shifted and shuddered suddenly, uncoiling in a grotesquely humanoid shape. It’s trunk split open with a sickening creak, revealing rows of mishappen teeth and unending darkness. The eldrich horror lurched forward, the movements like that of a sickly predator. The stench of rot and decay wafted on the breeze, carrying the promise of death should one fall into it’s grasp.

With a terrified scream, Torvin clawed at his eyes, desperate to rid himself of the image lumbering towards him. His screams were cut short by the rising wind and darkness overtook him.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. For more on the Black Forest and the knight Torvin was searching for, check out Salvation on Kindle Unlimited. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

Flash Fiction Friday 009 – It’s Raining Tacos. Hallelujah!

When a magician goes to lunch, his intern is left alone in the workshop. The intern is hungry, however, and decides to use a little magic to help fix the situation. What could go wrong with that?

Jeff continued to sweep one corner of the workshop. It was a mindless task. Hell, it was a task that didn’t even really need to be done, but it made him look busy. That was important when the master was in one of his moods. Or any of his moods. Or awake. Jeff had learned that over his five years here. Look busy and don’t ask too many questions. That suited Jeff fine, and his lack of ambition often made the master feel better about his lot in life.

The mood today was good. The experiments were going well and the universe responding like it should. It was almost noon when the master cried out with joy. “I’ve done it!”

Jeff came running towards the center dais. It was a large circle, raised by several steps. It held a small table, a stand for the master’s spell book, and a cauldron as well as the master himself, beaming in the glow of the boiling liquid. “Jeff, look! Distilled essence of will power. Just the thing to help all those college kids with their finals. Slap that in an energy drink can, toss on the FDA warning, and boom! We’ll be as big as Monster and more popular than Adderall.”

The master gave himself one final smile before placing a hand on his stomach. “But that is an issue for after lunch. See you in an hour.” With that, the master strode from the dais and disappeared into the noise of cars and humanity outside the shop.

Jeff stood there a moment staring into the cauldron. He carefully lifted the spoon that had been used to stir the mix, pausing with it just before his mouth. Surely a little taste wouldn’t hurt. After a few more seconds of hesitation, he tentatively licked the spoon…and felt nothing.

It was odd. The master was so confident, but Jeff didn’t notice any change to his mood or desires. He did notice a rumble in his stomach. The mention of lunch brought Jeff to the realization that he did not eat breakfast. He also did not feel like any of the fast food chains that were close by. What he wanted was a good taco. There were just no good tacos in the neighborhood.

The thought occurred to Jeff that there was a solution to his taco problem sitting on the table next to him. Picking up his master’s pointy hat, Jeff put it on his head as he thumbed through the spell book. It was the first time he had ever really read any of this book so it took him a few moments to get used to the format. Once he got the hang of it, it was a few more minutes of searching until he found the spells that he needed.

Jeff put a lid on the cauldron to act as a tray and lifted his hands into the air. He began to rattle off the spells that he had seen, his voice floating through the warehouse like the many particles of dust he swept. When he was done, he stared expectantly at the cauldron’s lid.

Nothing appeared on the lid. Jeff dropped his arms in disappointment and placed the hat on the table. Before he stepped down, however, a tortilla floated from the ceiling and landed on the cauldron. It was followed by some shredded beef, a sprinkle of cheese, and a glob of sour cream. Laughing, Jeff lifted the taco and blissfully began to eat.

His laughter faded after two bites. Another tortilla was falling from the sky. And another. And another. Each one was followed by shredded beef, cheese, and sour cream. Before long, the workshop was filled with the flurries of tortillas, the patterings of beef, the drizzles of cheese, and the plops of cream. He did not know what he had done, but he had created a taco storm.

Shock gave way to fear as the storm continued. What would the master say? There was only one thing to do. Jeff quickly picked up several tacos and ran for the door. He did not stop until he was two cities away and looking for a new job.

Meanwhile, the master returned after lunch to find his workshop caught in a downpour of tacos. At first, he was angry at what was going on. As he carefully picked his way through the showery fiesta, he saw the book and hat were not as he had left them. A few moments of investigation gave him all the hints that he needed. The potion apparently worked and his unmotivated assistant had apparently created the storm for lunch.

Placing the hat on his head, the master lifted his arms in the air and began to chant. He shrank the storm to a tiny cloud that he sealed in a jar. Another enchantment was placed on the jar to pause the storm whenever the jar was closed. In addition to a new motivating energy drink, the master also had the start for a food truck business now. All in all, today was a good day.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

Flash Fiction Friday 008 – Hugs, Not Wands

All ages face difficult questions. These questions always need a lot of thought and logic to figure out. Can a father help his daughter understand the challenge of answering these questions?

“Why do we hate protesters so much daddy?”

Torvin blinked, his mouth slightly agape as he turned to look at his daughter. “What do you mean sweetheart?”

“My news feed is full of people talking about how protesters belong in jail or that they are wasting their time. How it must be nice not to have real jobs.” Trina didn’t even lift her head from her crystal, one finger casually flicking up to show more of her feed. “No one seems to want to talk about the issue.”

Torvin cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, baby…I suppose that’s because it’s easier to talk about protests than issues.”

“Why?” She turned her eyes up towards her father, her brown orbs bright and inquisitive in the way only a child could have.

“Because a lot of people see magic as a right and when you start talking about more education and limiting what people can do, they get angry.”

“But isn’t magic dangerous?”

“Of course it is sweetheart. So are a lot of other things, though. It gets complicated real fast.” Torvin’s brain was already hurting and he wasn’t that deep into the explanation.

“So people make fun of protesters to avoid trying to figure out answers to the problems.” Trina’s lips turned down slightly.

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Torvin grunted slightly. “It gets complicated. Some people don’t want to talk about the issues. Some people don’t like seeing these protests all the time. So people just want to be mad at others wanting to change things.

“And that’s why it’s so hard to do anything. You have to wade through the reasons why people are resisting and address their concerns. That’s why we have the Conclave.”

“Ok daddy.” Her voice was distracted, absent any interest or attention. Torvin looked down to see her back on her crystal watching some video or another. That was the problem with young centaurs today. Not enough attention span to finish a simple conversation.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

As always, I mustache you all to stay fantastical.

Random Thoughts – The 3 M’s of Worldbuilding

World building is hard. So is figuring out how to have fantasy creatures interact and engage with that world. But how do you introduce those creatures early if they don’t play a role until later in the series? The 3 M’s answers that question.

So I am in this awesome writer’s group on Facebook. The people there are great. They are also super helpful, always willing to offer help and advice on story issues. Occasionally, though, you get some random jackass who has never published a book who tries to speak with authority and offer their two cents…Well, not being content with being just a jackass on Facebook, I have decided to expand on one of my ideas here for you fantastical people.

There have been a lot of question on Fantasy Writer’s Support Group on worldbuilding. Not just how to create a new world and populate it with interesting peoples and creatures, but also how soon or late to introduce these elements. Many of these writers have plans for a multi-book series, and they want to keep book one very mundane and ordinary with barely a hint of fantasy creatures, only to introduce these different races in later books.

Initially, my advice was always to get the creatures out there as soon as possible in book one. It’s fantasy. Fantasy creatures are allowed to be there. Besides, you don’t want to have book one feel like some type of historical fiction story only to do a genre bait-and-switch in books two or three.

Now, this is still my advice. To quote Martin Luther (the theologian, not the civil rights leader) “Here I stand. I can do no other.” I never really gave a lot of thought to how to actually do this, though.

After all, it is easy to say “toss those creatures in there.” It is harder to do. Where do you put them? What if you have a xenophobic government? These were questions I did not have an answer to…

Until now.

The 3 M’s of Worldbuilding:

Merchants, Mercenaries, and Marauders was the answer I needed.

There are certain groups that are pretty much ubiquitous in every society, especially medieval based societies. These groups are merchants, mercenaries, and marauders. Let’s break it down.

Merchants are one of the few groups of people who are pretty universally welcomed. They bring new and exotic items from across the globe…or a new tray to bake bread on. Either or. Either way, merchants have a lot of freedom of movement. They are also a group that is easy to have other races fill.

After all, in our own history, you could get raided by a Viking ship today and tomorrow another Viking ship will show up to trade with you. (Ok, it wasn’t that extreme, but you get my point.) Merchants can show up anywhere and be accepted. Maybe not trusted, but accepted.

Mercenaries are another group that is all over history. There is the famous story of the Anabasis where 10,000 Greek mercenaries traveled to Persia to fight for Cyrus II. They typically tend to show up more in later history as gunpowder led to strong, centralized governments capable of raising the taxes to pay for them, but fantasy loves its mercenary bands.

Historically, these mercenary bands travel all over the place. The Vikings (geez, again!?) sent a group of mercenaries into Asia, these mercenaries became bodyguards, then these bodyguards took the crown and established Russia. (Slight exaggeration on the timeline, but still a true story.) So it is easily possible to have a mercenary group of a different race, especially if your fantasy has a war going on.

Finally, we have marauders. These are your raiders and pillagers. (Vikings strike again!) But in this sense, I use marauders more to represent criminal organizations because I am an author and alliteration is awesome. (Also because MMCU or MMG doesn’t quite flow off the tongue.)

Any xenophobic society is going to attempt to push outside races away from good, societal jobs. This leads those groups to have to find some means of surviving. Raiding, stealing, and selling secrets are all good ways to earn money for those who don’t have the burden of living up to a society’s moral codes. (Granted, it also leads to stereotypes, but that’s not the point here.)

Now, the other awesome thing about the 3 M’s of Worldbuilding is that you don’t have to focus on these groups. There doesn’t need to be a whole lot of explanation behind them or a deep dive in their cultural history. These groups are just there. They form the background.

They also get your creatures in the story easily. You can explore them later at your leisure. They can impact the plot whenever you want. But they are already there and you don’t have to worry about them coming out of nowhere.

So what do you think? Are the 3 M’s helpful to you? How do you like to build your worlds?

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to check out the latest Flash Fiction Friday post. Follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

As always, I mustache you all to stay fantastical.

Flash Fiction Friday 007 – A Wizard’s Duel

Two wizards meet in a forest clearing and challenge each other to a duel. Thrill as they display their power and seek to gain the upper hand. Will raw strength succeed or will cunning conquer?

“A wizard’s duel?” Orpheus raised a brow in surprise and intrigue, a small smile playing across his lips. “What a fascinating thought. Rules?”

“Elemental based att-”

“Boo! Booooring.” Orpheus chuckled the look on Maliek’s face at being interrupted. “Come now Maliek. Don’t frown so.” A sigh escaped from Orpheus’ lips. “Fine. Fine. Elemental it is. Really, you Mariesian mages need more creativity.”

Just as Orpheus finished, Maliek stabbed the ground with his staff. The earth shook and rumbled beneath Orpheus’ feet, and he was forced to reach out to a nearby tree for support. Before he could fully regain himself, Maliek slashed upwards with his staff. A blade of air burst from the staff’s path, causing the tree to explode.

Orpheus dove out of the way, rolling into a kneel. Splinters and bark rained down around him. He saw the blur of Maliek’s staff as another blade of air shot towards him. He did not dive away this time but clapped his hands together at the last moment, catching the airwave. With a twist of the wrists, he turned the wave and flung it up into the sky.

Bringing his arms down, Orpheus directed a bolt of lightning towards Maliek. The larger wizard shielded his eyes from the blinding light while spinning his staff to scatter the bolt’s power. Orpheus took advantage of the momentary distraction to rise. A spinning of the finger caused a wind to swirl about Maliek, surrounding him with a thin layer of dirt and leaves. With a snap, Orpheus called forth a clap of thunder.

The clearing was filled with a deafening sound as wind and thunder mixed. As suddenly as it began, the noises stopped, and all was silent. Maliek stood alone in the silence. His vision was still spotty from the lightning and his hearing muffled from the thunder. Cursing, he spun about as he searched for his opponent.

Movement behind a tree caught his eye, and Maliek thrust his staff towards it. Instead of the flame flying from the end of his staff, Maliek’s instrument exploded in his hands. The ground beneath his feet rose in the air and tilted, spilling him to the ground below. Vines rose from the exposed earth to bind his wrists and hold him fast to the ground.

“I yield.” The surrender was more a growl from the large wizard.

“Poor Maliek,” Orpheus said as he stepped from behind a tree. “Always thinking that your magic flows from your weapon. A flaw in the thoughts of the Mariesians.” The vines binding Maliek retreated and Orpheus offered the man a hand up. “Come on now. It is time for lunch.”

Maliek took the hand and rose with a grunt. “You owe me a new staff.”

“Of course, of course.” Orpheus smiled. “I was thinking mutton stew. I’ve been wanting to try the mutton stew at that new tavern near the academy.” With a flick of the wrist, Orpheus opened a gateway to the city gates. “You’re buying by the way. Victor’s rights and all.”

Maliek’s growl was a halfhearted attempt to keep from smiling as he shoved Orpheus through the gateway.

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Flash Fiction Friday 006 – Terrors of the Deep

The Viribus sails the cosmic seas. But there are dangers that lurk out in the dark expanses. Can the Viribus survive or is it doomed to be consumed by the universe?

Crow’s nest duties were always the worst. It was supposed to be done by convicts, but the trip had been long and there were no convicts left. A quarter of them were back in their cells below babbling incoherently. The rest had disappeared.

The crow’s nest needed to be manned, however. So it was that Marius was sitting in the small wooden circle atop the mast. He had shown a little too much disrespect to his section lead. Normally this was punishable by a little extra duty and a forfeiture of pay. Given the need for lookouts, though, he was ordered up to the top of the mast instead.

He shivered as he stared out into the darkness. There was no real day or night out on the cosmic seas, but it was the twenty-third hour. The decks below were as silent as the cosmos surrounding Marius as the majority of the crew slept. The solar winds provided no warmth and only heightened the feelings of isolation.

Out in the distance, a sole balaeic drifted through space, its massive body undulating and writhing on unseen currents. The Jues Nebulae glittered beyond the bow, a red and green beacon that signaled the final leg of their journey. With a little skill and a little luck, the Viribus would be back at a friendly dock within a week.

From the shadows below Jues, a glint of light caught Marius’ eye. He fetched his looking glass and lifted it in the direction of the flash. The image of another ship jumped into his vision. The vessel was thin and sleek, bearing a single mast, and its bow was carved into a strange shape. While it was still too far to make out the design of the bow clearly, the shape of the ship was unmistakable.

“Pictusings! Pictusings below the Jues!”

In response to Marius’ cries, the bell on the deck below began to ring out its alarm. A flurry of motion erupted below him as the crew was woken. They rushed to their battle stations as the Pictusings ship approached.

It wasn’t long before the Pictusings were upon them and the battle was made. The clash of swords and the thud of clubs exploded around the two ships. Screams of the wounded and dying pierced the air. Even though the Viribus was a larger ship with a skilled and hardened crew, the Pictusings were known for their fierceness, dragging the fight on longer than it should have. Longer than was prudent.

Out from the depths of the cosmic seas, a shadow moved. It was drawn to the sounds of pain and scent of blood. There was no form to the shadow as passed by the battling ships, only an indescribable sound. The sound bore into Marius’ ears like a screw digging into wood, removing shavings of sense and sanity. His screams were echoed by those below until a fog passed over his mind, blurring out reality.

* * *

The Viribus drifted into the port of Helenesopia. Once secured, the dockmaster strode up the gangplank, notebook in hand, ready to record the declarations from the ship’s logistician.

“A little more trouble than normal on this run Heraclon,” the logistician reported. “We lost all our convicts about eighty percent of the way through. Mindeaters and the like seem to be growing in the Adriomos region. Had a little run-in with the Pictusings near Jues as well. I recommend you put a notice out on those two spots.”

Heraclon nodded absently as he made the notes. “Of course. We will also start the paperwork to refill your stock of convicts. Any thing else to declare?”

The logistician tapped his chin a moment in thought. “No, not that I can think of. Cargo is all accounted for and our paperwork is in order. All in all, I would say it was a fairly successful trip.”

Flash Fiction Friday 005 – The Golden Horde

As the day of battle was reached, the Golden Horde stood ready to meet their foe. #flashfictionfriday #fantasy #battle

The sound of a thousand breaths echoing in a thousand helmets filled the first few ranks. Behind, standards fluttered in the breeze, undulating with the same determined beat of the warriors. The sun rose behind them, casting the field in a glorious, golden light. It was a good omen.

The heavens were smiling on the Golden Horde. Though chaos still loomed ahead, order would soon be brought to bear as sure as the dawn was ending the night. It was a certainty, as sure as the dawn.

A horn sounded in the distance and a cloud of smoke rose on the horizon. The earth shook as the wild ones marched forth. Their army outnumbered the Golden Horde three to one, but that did not cause a stir among the ranks.

General Gradicus observed how the wild ones marched forward. Their steps were out of time with each other and their ranks bent like a reed in the wind. This was not a professional army, merely a mob meant to scare and intimidate.

Gradicus allowed himself a small smile as he wrote several orders on scraps of parchment. These orders were handed to nearby runners who sped off towards the designated officer. This army was not easily scared and would show this rabble what true military force can do.

Tropes 001 – Why is it Always a Farm Boy

Tropes are important for storytelling. They are essential tools that help an author. They can also feel overused and outdated.

Fantasy heroes have a pretty standard origin. They are either the noble son of the noble father of the noble line, destined to rule with peace and prosperity…or they are a farm boy. But why a farm boy? Why always a farm boy? Let’s take a look at why this trope exists and what function it serves. I mean, we need to look at why it’s always a farm boy before we can find a replacement.

First and foremost, this person is supposed to become the hero. Farm boys work because working farms are hard. You get those country muscles. I could see a farm boy overpowering a soldier. If that were the only case, that leaves us with some other jobs that are good subs. Blacksmiths are great, dock loaders, pretty much any physically demanding job.

Second, farm boys come from humble origins. They have to overcome their social class as well. This adds at least two decent subplots as the farm boy learns to be gentile and some snobby git tries to sabotage them for the farm boys heritage. If this is the case, any lower class job would work. I’d start to avoid things like blacksmiths at this point as they would have routine dealings with nobles who need repairs and arms. Depending on skill, a blacksmith might have more leeway to say what they want, but they still know their place. Kind if ruins some of the humble origins bit.

But the most important reason why it’s always a farm boy is this. They are easily ignorant of the world. Farms are in rural areas. Rural areas are simple and innocent and poorly educated because everyone has to work all day. So the farm boy leaves the farm and now doesn’t know anything about the world. He gets to ask questions and get explanations, meaning we get explanations. He doesn’t know urban politics so we get the crash course in the major houses and who hates who. Same with the war and the rebellion and etc and etc and etc. So who can replace the farm boy here? Well, someone rural. But they also have to be strong enough to become the hero in a 100 pages. See how we are starting to run out of jobs? So that’s why it’s always a farm boy.

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