two points from lesser ghost pie.

"Too late...friends. Nefarius' corruption has taken hold. I cannot...control myself. I beg you Mortals, flee! Flee before I lose all sense of control. The Black Fire rages within my heart. I must release it! FLAME! DEATH! DESTRUCTION! COWER MORTALS BEFORE THE WRATH OF LORD....NO! I MUST FIGHT THIS! ALEXSTRASZA, HELP ME!"

Vael. The emo dragon. What power hath he from the random beats of dark rats wings in the beer pipes of Drop kick murphys. I wondered this while eating wanton fried squid legs and watching penguins box for candied apples atop the spinning disc of the Eiffel Tower. Desk. The forthright laughter of the elf. She buried them beneath the stupid little egomaniacs that looked like shadowy puppet masters that munch on oxycodone and raspberry chocolate.

Einj. Yaslhe. Aldilene. The spectres of the past. I smell pizza due in 90 minutes. Talk about shit-tastic service. I write. I stare. I lawl at them. bothered no more by the randomness of the FUNGLES system. *cough* Annoyance was he.

I crave paper. nomnomnom

Coming sometime this century:

Ki once told me that "if I don't like writing, why do I do it?" There's a lot of reasons. 1, cuz I like pain. 2, cuz its THERE. 3, rice. 4... Um.. I had a fourth, but I forgot it.

Another person once told me, write what you know. I coulda read it somewhere. I think it was the spider that lives in my closet. He's fulla wisdom n' stuff. So I decided to buckle down and write something. It'll be quarky, random and might end abruptly if I get bored with it. Probably be a short story. But, I'm writing, it's a start. For your entertainment, I present:

"Twelve"

Just a story set in the modern "future" about a guy and his friends. They're big into sports, messing with each other, causing the random ruckus about town and keeping the money coming in.

... You're all waiting for the other shoe to drop, aren't you? "Oh that Flake, he so cuh-raaaazay. He ain't gonna make the story as simple as that."

It's a simple story about that group of friends, three of whom are of alien origin, two from earth, one extra-dimensional being, and a rabid monkey named 'Furious George' all of whom play a sport called "Bloodball" which consists of uploading a virtual image of yourself into a no-holds-barred deathmatch where the purpose is to annihilate anyone and everything and big wins yield big bucks. The sport is funded by the military, ironically, who have the "players" on contract to get drafted for whatever reason they choose. The ragtag crew of players are lead by a human named Jachun McCalmington, otherwise known as Flake. Flake used to be in a secret organization that planned to overthrow the government on their planet, Alath'Der (Earth has gone missing; that's right. I said missing) This organization called Fate's Hand used drugs to override their soldiers emotions and supply their bodies with artificial adrenaline, creating emotionless powerhouse soldiers. Too bad when they innoculated Flake with their serum it didn't mix well with the Battle System F.U.N.G.L.E.S chip that had been implemented in his head at birth. Of course, the doctors who did it had been exterminated and the project had been declared a bust.

So Mr. Flake, leading a team of aliens and powerhouse players in a game of BloodBall with artificial body enhancers that go out of whack when the F.U.N.G.L.E.S. in his head goes off, suddenly learns his sport is being cut off and is for some reason, charged with the disappearance of his former friend and head CEO of the Cyberium Gaming League and that his alien-cat girlfriend has gone missing. It's a good thing they have a space-ship to fly out of Atmosphere too; Flake's last unofficial medical exam, necessary to play in the BloodBall matrix games, just diagnosed him with paranoid Schizophrenia.

They told me to write what I know. The world is not prepared.

Tribute - To the Crusaders

"What happened?"

Decimus inquired, his eyes tentatively watching this strange new comrade. Shiena folded her arms,

"Are you just asking, or do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

Decimus replied calmly. A sigh escaped Shiena's lips.

"You read stories of kings and men, heroes who fought and wounded pursuing their dreams. How that desire to live over-wrought the clench of death that sought them."

She shook her head.

"I was in such an accident. Where.. I wondered if I would live or die. It was nothing serious, now that I can think of it as something I survived. But at the time, you wonder. Your mind ponders things unimaginable to the daily thought. I lived, as they thought, but... It wasn't anything awe-inspiring as the stories might have you believe. You wake up and realize things are better. My dreams, my goals... They didn't change. I wasn't filled with the insurmountable urge to better the world. But... It did make me appreciate one thing: memories."

"In the end, at the edge of that cold dark abyss, our memories are all we take with us. Amusingly enough, I didn't have many memories. I thought I didnt' have any at all, until..."

"Until?"

Decimus repeated, sitting silently across the stream from where Shiena stood. The rogue unfurled her brow and smiled faintly,

"The small memories. The simple joys of every day life... I compounded every pleasant thought I had every since henceforth, and it made me smile. Even as I lay dying. My thoughts turned to a group of warriors from far south, across the ocean. Not a Hero nor King would know their name; no history book will sing praises of their deeds. But they don't need to."

"They called themselves the Crusaders of the Flame. And when I was wandering, a stranger in a strange land, they took me in and called me friend. They became a sort of second family for me. Unlike mercenary groups or Rogue guilds I've seen, these people had an air of comradery about them that was unmatched. They didn't hestitate to trust me. Why? Because they trusted each other. Should I ever draw sword or knife against one of their own, they'd rise and protect each other. That fierce comradery was what kept me with them... Until I traveled north on my own for a season... And met my fate at Death's door."

"The Crusaders were not heroes; they were my friends. And when I thought I didn't have much to be grateful for in that dark moment, I remembered them and the times we shared."

And it made me smile.

Ballad of the Warrior

My fight will be for you
My love will be in you
My fall will be beside you
My death will endure you forever

-'Her voice was wonderful... Like a fine instrument. When asker her name, she just smiled'
Nachisrin City, circa Raoleign year 958

Red Dawn

It was dawn.

The dank morning air hovering over the bay like the fog that had come rolling in with the ships smelled of salt and sorrow.

Business thrived as usual within the Port town of Cutlas; it never ceased nor slept, but today things seemed to be a bit slow. Things were peaceful and yet, no one seemed willing to chat. Hard-faced merchants went about their business opening their wares to the quiet public, sailors and soldiers alike. Many a ship lumbered into the dock yard every few minutes, each carrying a cargo load of broken supplies and broken spirits. Though War was a guise that was subtle enough in the far off lands, Cutlas was feeling the after-effects as armies of soldiers and peons returned from the effort. Having suffered not only defeat in endless battles, rumor had it the nation had lost the war entirely. People begun to fear the usual - what might happen if their kingdom were overthrown, what would happen to the economy and their homes. Numbed minds and bodies exited each ship, wondering what was going to happen to them today and what they would do to get by.

One particular ship had just reared into the naval yard and finally made port on the western dock. Immediately, sailors leapt to and scrambled offboard, unloading the cargo and letting the passengers leave the ship. Several soggy and moldy crates were tossed down to the men on the dock, one splitting open and revealing pounds of half-aged food and bad meat.

Wrinkling his nose at the sudden smell of salt and rotting vestiges of pork, Dagron the Dwarf raised his chin and scanned the town of Cutlas. Shops were overflowing with soldiers, runaways, mercenaries of all caliber. Wagons threatened to trample those still standing in the street as men fought to be on their way. But no one noticed the three standing at the base of a ship, each looking off into the blank green horizon.

Dagron shuffled his belt, his hammer and axe losing girth and threatening to fall onto the creaking boards below their feet. His massive tower shield was slung over his back, per usual, awaiting use but in dire need of repair. His shabby metal armor had been sewn together from several disgarded suits of metal in the war effort amid his duties of tempering and cleaning weapons, suits of armor and other equipment. He sniffed and then grunted out a congested cough, knuckling his bristly beard while doing so.

The cleric at his side glanced his way at the sudden noise, then promptly turned her attention elsewhere. Yalla Apollose ran her eyes over the skyline, letting them fall onto the town. She placed her glove-laden fingers on his waist, absently checking her equipment. Cutlas was a port town that housed figures of shady intent; it would come as no surprise if her cut mace and shield vanished right off her being. The split mail she wore had been given to her during the war effort, much like Dagron's. Yalla had been trusted to tend to the wounded and aid the War-priests in their business of watching the wounded and praying for those that were lost. Yalla and Dagron had become friends at Tirenfar Outpost, when the army had pushed into the valley and had to construct a sudden base of nothing but sparse trees and mud. Yalla wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty as needed, but never strayed from her holy roots.

The third body in the line was that of a short in stature Halfling named Dygg. Well into his 100's, Dygg had aged in mind and wisdom but lacked in physical abilities or even maturity. He was wise for his age, and had taken to apprenticing a Sorcerer in the war named Bannon. After Bael'Gar keep was destroyed and Bannon vanished, Dygg's hopes of becoming a true magic user began to flourish as he sought a new master to learn from. Dygg didn't enjoy physical labor, but helped where he could, his lack of height limiting him to cleaning and cooking. Many a soldier did rant about his rabbit stew; some of the best they had experienced. Dygg enjoyed cooking but felt the urge to be something more, an urge that had drawn him to where he stood today - beside Dagron and Yalla.

The three remained transfixed on the edge of the dock, each watching the town and wondering what it held in store for them. They had agreed on the putrid boat ride home that even though the war was over, the struggle to do good was not. Each had experienced the horrors that war could bring, but did not forget the savors of achieving their goals meant.

The red sun pierced through the fog at that moment, sending a pink ray of light into the distance. The war had changed them, but each had made up their mind.

Dygg shouldered his black cane-sword and sighed, then looked up at his companions with a grin. They all exchanged glances at that moment. None knew what fate might have in store for them, however, one thing they knew for certain.

It was gonna be a hell of a time.

Karma

This is so amusingly ironic, I had to post it. Amongst my tears of pain, I was also laughing pretty hard. In mid-writing, my media player is on in the background. Bout 700 or so songs, on RANDOM. Started out... Like'a this'a:

First song came on: 'God Must Hate Me' by simple plan

then came: 'Rock-bottom' by the Offspring

along played: '(It's Been The) Worst Day Since Yesterday' by Flogging Molly

next: 'Everything Sucks' by Dope

and last: 'Psycho' by Puddle of Mudd

Wait for it... I'm not done yet. After these 5 came on in that order and I'm sitting here thinking about my luck and how terri-bad things have been lately, I started laughing my ass off at everything and wondered if my media player was trying to tell me something. The next song played?

...

I Feel Fantastic by Jonathan Coulton.

Yeah. God exists. And he has a weird freakin' sense of humor.

And now, something for your comedic twitch.

"Oh aye, there's one thing left: Tha' chuck-shot! A secret Dwarven technique passed down from me daddy, from 'is daddy, from me great-great-uncle Triggerfinger Ironstone..."

"So named because of his legendary Marksmanship?"

"No... Because that was the only finger he had left AFTER HE MASTERED THE CHUCK-SHOT."

"What?! You're not really going to do this! You're insane!"

"Listen 'ere, Missy. Lemme tell ya sum'thin about Dwarves - WE GET THA JOB DONE. Now ya pointy-eared granola-munching bunny-kissin' green party pacifist raver elf chicks would never think to launch a live animal outta blunderbuss BUT WE DWARVES IS HAPPY TA DO IT!!!"

----Flintlocke, dwarf warrior, engineer, disaster

Under the Burning Stars

(click to enlarge)

No big epic thing about this guy. Because, one day, hopefully not in the distant future, I intend to pick up my novel A Redemption By Blood and finish it. Since it's still in the editing phase *cough* (Sorry Ki) I can't talk about this guy or his origins.

Sufficed to say, Vasaimune is a bad-ass. When he's around, it's a bad thing. Ya really never want to see or be near this guy should he ever show his face. Worlds have fallen at his feet, lands have been ripped apart and remade in the aftermath of his power.

But he's just so cute, ya' know?

Two Faces of the Coin

"Trying to find a way, Getting better every day

And I got you now I'm not alone

All I need in this life is one,

One thing to believe in

I've seen many a face, From young and too old

I've stolen their faith and I have broken their souls

Was here before Christ had forgave you your sins

And paid your price and sealed your fate within

Days have come to an end..

Today's the day that we meet again

The self inflicted inebriation:

Guilt never lies

I've been waiting for the chance to reunite this sick romance

Poison never hurt so good

So nice of you to speak of me, your closest friend and enemy

An only savior of masochists

Well it's the dead end slave, from the alter to the grave

It's the last days of our life

The faith of men

Time, its been so long, and now there's nothing to say

I'm trying so hard to find the words to say

I'm tired of being, now I'm something I'm not

I can't believe and I never thought

Days would come to an end

Well maybe someday we'll meet again,

If ever that day never comes, it would be too soon

My love

I've been waiting for the chance To nullify this sick romance

Pull the cord to detonate

So sick of you, don't speak of me, a represent of misery

An only savior of masochists

Well it's the dead end slave, from the alter to the grave

It's the last days of our life

Well it's the dead end slave, from the alter to the grave

It's the last days of our life

The faith of men

Now I've found a way, getting better every day

And I got you now I'm not alone,

All I need in this life is one, One thing to believe in"

A song. A pop-rock song by a band I like. A passionate song, sung with emotion in the music, "ooooh"s in the background by the members of the band, even some added instruments like one of those key-board like piano wannabe things and even some deep, church-bells in the background. Most of the people who write about this song, on forums or lyrics pages, tag it as a terrific song, powerful and all that. Like most pop-rock songs, they think it's about relationships, or love and some such stuff. I used to think that too, in fact, I still kinda do. Cept... I had a thought.

Imagine the song is about, or sung by rather, Lucifer. Yeah, I got bug-eyed too. Go back and re-read the lyrics again. I'll wait here.

Back yet? I don't know if the band was intending to have this kind of meaning when they wrote it, but it certainly changes my view on it. I also think it makes a lot of sense. If Satan were to come raging at you with Hardcore death metal in the background, I think we'd all run away screaming. Though a passionate song with emotional music that talks about "love" and "relationship" in it, Satan would have a better argument. Let's face it: everyone sins. In a way, we all have a 'relationship' to Ol' Scratch, though hopefully, it involves lots of ignoring and discernment. Our twisted and sick 'romance' with sin.

After all, isn't sinning just misplaced Love?

Think about it.

Number 10: Burning Blood of the Berserker

Spikes Barricade vs. The Council of Traemir

from: 'When the Hammer Falls'

The thundering came from above again, this time it was even louder than before. Arcanas grit his teeth and prayed to whatever diety that may be listening that it was going to be enough. Flak's explosives had their shortcomings, more than once leaving the group without any options. This time, however, they seemed to do the trick.

Arcanas' lungs were ablaze, his mind reeled from the pain Guarlain had dealt him and the burning endurance in his legs began to waiver. Refocusing his sight upon his brother's back, the ex-Grand Crusader Arcanas Mikk'amn glanced back over his shoulder. Spikes was barreling after him, low orcish grunts interrupted briefly by sharp glances at the horde on their heels.

"The balcony...!"

That came from the roguish Flak, echoed by,

"Shit! Kasseh poir ASCH!"

Sho'Ryu didn't stop running until he skidded to a halt beside Flak, grabbing at the rope around his shoulders. A brief burst of yellow light illuminated the pillars of the corridor, encapsulating the fleeing mercenaries in its radiance. Sho dropped one end of the rope and, without pausing, leapt forty paces across the opening where the remains of the bridge desperately sought to hold firm using his 'Flight of Feather spell.' The bloodkin elf hurriedly jerked a knot around the far statue of an Illythid and shouted back,

"Walk across now, hurry! Put your weight on the rope!"

Arcanas shoved his sister Cryshel forward first, making sure she was well on her way over the remains of the bridge, trying his best to remain ignorant of the perilous drop to the courtyard far, far below. Cryshel waited until Spikes had fastened their end of the rope through the doorway. She then took a deep breath and held tight to the guiding rope, so tightly her knuckles began to ache from the pressure. The light-headedness that associated itself with her inner sickness threatened to claim her sight, but she deftly struck the notion into the pit of her stomach until reaching the opposite side. She fell shaking into Sho's arms, mumbling words under her breath. Sho'Ryu yelled,

"Hurry, they're almost here!"

Spikes and Arcanas both turned to analyze the rampaging hordes hurtling themselves through the unholy Cathedral towards them. The undead beasts, the demonic army of the Traemir... Were they that desperate? Arcanas shoved Ctharsis towards the gap,

"Get a move on, half-breed!"

Ctharsis, for the time being, ignored his half-brothers retort and lowered Shaith to a walking position, a motion she hissed through grit teeth as her broken leg touched the breaking stone. Clinging to the lifeline between the cathedral and the far balcony, Shaith edged over the remains of the bridge, followed closely by Flak. Spikes lashed his battle axe to his back when Arcanas slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand,

"Let's roll, big guy."

The insipid mercenary had a thing against heights, namely, the fears associated with falling from them. They say to keep your eyes up when dealing with high reaches, but Arcanas defied those warnings by staring down into the courtyard below as his feet crept inch by inch towards the far side. That courtyard looked farther away each second he stared at it. His heart took a deathly jump when he felt the weight of the stony bridge give, failing it's ongoing battle to remain in position.

"Cryshel...!"

"Brother!"

Cryshel screamed. Crumbling dust began to rain into the air between the hallways, with Arcanas frozen in the dead center of it. Before anyone could catch her, the Blue mage shot forward onto the lifeline, extending a hand out to her brother. Arcanas peddled himself, quivering with sweat and uncontrollable fear, forward to her hands when he felt a giant hand thud him in the back, spiraling him the last few steps that collapsed under his weight to the corridor to the West Wing. Arcanas cried out when his feet met falling rock until he crashed headlong into Cryshel, throwing them both into a heap on the floor. Nervous laughter ricketed from his lips,

"Apologies, sister. Let's not waste any more time, and get the hell out--"

As he spoke, his head swung around hoping to find the seething Council of Traemir glowering angrily at them from the far ledge. What he instead saw was the stone form of Spikes still standing in the arch of the cathedral, his giant axe in one hand and forty paces of air between them.

"SPIKES!"

Arcanas nearly jumped off the balcony when Flak and Cryshel both locked onto his arms. The red-haired mercenary spun around,

"Sho, cast a flight spell! We've got to get him over here before the Council arrives. Quick standing around, dammit!"

Sho was leaning on his orb, slow, shaky gasps of breath escaping his lips,

"After Guarlain's strikes, I don't have much left in me boss..."

Arcanas stammered garbles of words, glaring at each member of his team as they responded with hopeless, sullen looks. He couldn't form a single phrase as he dropped his sights to the ground. The Priestess Guarlian's attack had caught them all off-guard and without any resources left. But something had to be done...!

"No fear, this is what we're going to do. First, we--"

"Run."

Arcanas spun on his heels and stared at the Orc in the archway. For the first time in their nine year partnership, the Orc wore the look of complete heartfelt resolution. Without moving a muscle, the Orc Spikes said again,

"Run now. You leave to Spikes."

"Spikes, you should know by now, I don't leave anyone behind! Don't you worry, we'll get you out of there!"

Spikes lowered his face slightly, his unbraided black hair shifting over his eyes. He grunted,

"It Spikes' turn now. You leave."

Arcanas stumbled over his tongue when Flak interrupted him, jerking on his left arm,

"Boss, we gotta git now, ay!"

The blow that struck his chest was unseen by his one good eye. Arcanas retaliated,

"Shut your God's damned mouth, Flak, we're not leaving him!"

Ctharsis let Shaith support herself on the tall, ominously silent statue of the Illythid and stomped over to his brother, grappling his brother tightly,

"We stay and we all die, brother. We need to honor his wish!"

"What wish, we haven't even tried yet! Spikes!"

The swordsman fought back with all the tenacity of a child wrestling with his parent, the monk Ctharsis overpowering him easily, dragging him effortlessly away from the balcony into the mountain under the west wing of the Cathedral. Cryshel clung to Sho's arm, staring at her comrade still in the archway opposite them,

"Sho, isn't there anything we can do at all?!"

Sho'Ryu thought a moment, locking his eyes onto Spikes', and he knew what he had to do. Whispering a few words of runic power, he waved his fingers three times in front of his face and began to weave a spell. Cryshel's eyes widened, but, stifling an argument, merely placed her touch on Sho's arm and, using her blue magic, empowered his spell to maximum potency. Spikes watched calmly as the spell's glow reached him and draped his body in a green light, his mind recalling the Fist of Nidhogg's Strength spell, having seen it many times before. Shaith, upon identifying the spell, gave a soft gasp. Sho dropped his arms to his sides, a sudden lack of breath catching him. When he recovered, he said softly,

"Give em hell, big guy..."

Cryshel covered her mouth with her fingers, tears forming in her eyes. She turned quickly and aided Shaith in walking, joined by Flak and the three of them disappeared into the shadows of the mountain. Sho'Ryu turned to follow when he heard a voice,

"You tell Arcanas boss... Thank you for be my friend."

Sho'Ryu flinched ever so slightly. The sight of tears in Spikes' eyes was something only Sho's elven eyes could have seen... And it nearly broke his heart. Without another pause, the bloodkin sorcerer vanished from sight.

With a heavy sigh, Spikes stared into the darkness that his comrades had departed into, Arcanas' defiant cries still echoing through the cathedral. This wasn't how he wanted it to go... But for once, the Orc felt he had truly helped his friends. A sharp whistling touched his ears briefly before a razor sharp quill shot through his right shoulderpad, shooting clean through the bloody meat of his arm. The Orc didn't even flinch, his eyes were still watching the far balcony. Two more quill darts shot down from behind, striking him in the back. Spikes met them with a grunt and a sigh, barely feeling the pain of their poison. His lowered his gaze to his feet, looking at the green aura of Sho's spell. The heated blood of the Berserker began to seep into his veins, slowly edging over his mind. Spikes smiled, one tear falling slowly from his face into the shimmering air around him.

The nearest demonic hound launched another barrage of quills and, speeding down the rows of the Cathedral, pounced through the air like a raging dart of drooling death. One of the quills grazed Spikes' thigh, shooting a slit of vermilion blood into the air. Spikes' last tear splashed gently onto the stone by his feet as the howl of the Berserker claimed his mind. The red eyes of death sunk into Spikes' skull.

"Spikes never die."

Spinning on right heel, the giant battle axe sprung to life in his hands, swiftly cracking through the head of the hell hound and in one more swoop, came down from above and shattered the beasts upper torso into a puddle of brain matter and oozing pink fluid. Spikes crushed the largest bulk of puss-covered mass with his right boot and threw his arms out to both sides, letting out a challenging roar that carried its strength through the hall of the giant cathedral, echoing off the tainted glass windows, through the pillars and upper hallways, around the buttresses and back down into the ears of the charging Traemir council, whom froze in their tracks suddenly.

Spikes was a whirlwind that spun forward twice, clefting the next member in half with one swing. The next met his death after striking quickly twice, both attacks landing onto Spikes' chest but neither slowing him for a second. The axe's blade, soaked now a permanent red, swung behind the Orc's back in a maneuever that brought it around down low, cutting the legs out from under a third Council member. The undead Traemir warriors gathered around from all sides, climbing atop the pews and lunging. Two more members were smashed into one another before being split into bloody halves, raining red stains onto the rampaging orc and nearby attackers. Spikes ducked under the razor claws of a giant Traemir apparition, shoving the butt end of his axe, armed with a spike into it's shin. The roaring cry only intensified as the Orc gave it a violent jerk, which snapped the beasts leg the wrong direction and collapsed it into a heap atop the bodies. Spikes hoisted one of the two axes at his waist, sending into the face of the nearest hell hound. The charging beast, carried from its speed, crashed headlong into the reeling Traemir laying on the ground.

"Spikes... Never... Die!"

The next hellhound rushed forward, gnashing bloody jaws aiming for the barbarians legs. Spikes placed an armored boot on the creatures face and vaulted from the beasts weight, throwing him into a forward flip at the end of which, using the force of the drop, brought Spikes' battle axe down, smashing the tall Traemir's head down into it's own shoulders, causing an explosion of blood and bone into the air. Spikes grabbed the leaking carapace with one hand and using the strength of Sho's spell, hurtled the corpse towards the ranged line of Traemir raining quills down from above. Spikes took two attacks into the same shoulder, the defiant blood of the berserker not allowing him to even feel the pain of it.

"Ickth nein barduum!"

The demonic phrase was shouted from the undead Traemir desperately trying to clamber away from the blood drenched Orc. Spikes cleft the first Traemir's leg off in a brilliant splash of blood as it tried to escape, it's dreadful screams drowning out any more orders it was trying to convey. Lashing out with a fist, Spikes grabbed his last hand axe at his waist and punched it into the next Traemir's gut while the demon attempted to mangle the Orc's face. The stone-faced Spikes ignored the lacerations forming from its claws as he gave the axe a twist that ceased the Traemir's assault, then dropped his two handed battle axe. Grasping the undead by the neck, his metal tipped fingers jabbed into the Traemir's throat until the Orc felt his fingers touch his thumb, then he punched the creature into the stained brick floor. The force of the blow decapitated the demonic humanoid with a gurgling spurt and a fountain of its unholy blood. Spikes retrieved both his hand axe and battle axe, spiraling the smaller of the two into the head of the next giant Traemir. It's horrible death throes knocked out the hellhound that attempted to sprint past, it's poison barbs shooting from its back.

Deftly evading the quills, Spikes danced forward with several spins and jumps into the next group of Traemir. The Orcs mind had long fogged over, his thoughts were of nothing but blood now. But through it all, one word kept echoing through to the barbarians limited civil side. Spikes clung to that word with all his might, the bloody haze of the berserker blocking out all else.

More Traemir were joining the slaughter every moment, each meeting a bloody end at the tip of Spikes's drenched axes. A hell hound appeared from the pack and sunk it's vicious fangs into Spikes' free arm, locking its jaw in refusal to be shaken off. The barbarian didn't even notice it, his other hand swooping the battle axe in wide arcs that claimed heads, limbs and all manner of extremities from the charing Traemir. Their terrifying death howls pierced Spikes' ears, surrounding him in a drunken, deaf fog of blood and death. Spikes whirled his axe around under the hell hounds belly and struck it twice, then dropped the blade to the ground. Wrestling with loud grunts and awkward grasps, the Orc placed his fingertips under the back of the creatures jaw. A terrible shriek deafened the Traemir at that point, as the top half of the hell hounds head was ripped clean off. The blast of pulpy blood hit Spikes in the eyes, temporarily blinding him. A terrible blow came from his side then, severing what remained of his arm clean off. The Barbarian turned and grabbed his belted hand axe, raining down malicious swing. One strike, two strikes, three and four now. The Traemir had long since died, but Spikes railed down gash after gash upon the demon.

The blood drunken stupor drove him backwards into the tall, black-horned altar. Suddenly, Spikes felt a rush of air and he collapsed onto his knees, his one arm fighting with the last refuges of his strength to hold him up. Sho'Ryu's spell had faded at long last, leaving him with but his own fading power to stand. The Orc opened his red eyes and stared at his quivering fist.

"Arcanas... You be proud of me. Spikes make you proud!"

His eyes raised slowly to the hordes of Traemir. Their number had doubled by now, the beasts on the upper hallways now preparing to fire their poisonous barbs. The hellhounds were creeping forward, giant jaws exercising up and down slowly in anticipation. Taller Traemir with the hammer shaped fists behind the hell hounds fashioned their unblinking, unchanging giant orbs of eyes upon the barbarian.

Spikes tightened his grasp around his two handed axe, dented, split and painted blood-red and pushed himself, fighting, aching, bleeding to his feet. A pulse of strength. The fire in Spikes' chest suddenly surged hotter than the flames of Hell itself. His red eyes shot open and he grinned, broken pointy teeth daring all in his sights to attack.

"SPIKES... NEVER... DIE!"

The towered Illythid statue, standing tall on the balcony across from the Grand Cathedral's chapel, gazed ever onward, mouth frozen in it's beaked grin. It's ever vigilant gaze remained for many years, a single reminder of that day etched in history: the last stand of the berserker.

UNLEASH MONKEY OVERDRIVE

*insert shameless plug*

Ok, sooooo. A lot of people have never really read my writings, since I'm usually pretty private about it, and I had an idea the other day that came to mind. Given that I'm not fond of writing entire BOOKS just to get to certain scenes I've thought up, I thought I'd do a coliseum style show-off of my favorite action sequences of all time.

Because, let's face it. I'm violent. And I like creating violence.

I'll probably start at 10 and work my way down, each scene reproduced will be from different books, ranging from races, to skirmishes, to all out war or just an epic fight between two characters. Yall should know by now I have a metric shit-ton of characters roaming around in the ethereal world of make-believe that is my mind. I've been dying to write something with them.

This compilation will be from every one of my books / creations, most of my stories all take place within the SAME world, too, just during different time periods. Some of them overlap! they don't have a lot in common unless specified, though. The important thing to remember is they are just scenes, they are literally cut and pasted right out of my story (mind) so a lot of it won't make sense and most of it won't be explained. I'm doing this to show off some characters and my favorite moments without having to do a giant collaboration i.e. that book thing with the pages. I really hope you enjoy them, they'll start going up this weekend. I'll try and include a quick, and by quick I mean crappy, picture of the characters starring in the scene, who's involved, etc. I hope I get some thoughtful comments on what was cool and what was lame :p

Dont miss it. Or I'll eat yo childrens.

The College Students Who Don't Do Anything

Yarrr, yarrrrr, yaaarrrrr, YAAAAAAAR!

We are the college students who don’t do anything

We just stay at home and play our games

And if you ask us to be social

We'll just tell you, "we don’t be social!"

o, I never do my homework

and I prefer the night to day

and I always go to Arbies when I'm ditching FHE

And I’ve gotten lost in Ucon

And I've gotten lost in I.F.

but I've never been to Boise in the fall

cuz We are the college students who don’t do anything

We just stay at home and play our games

And if you ask us to be social

We'll just tell you we don’t be social

Ben can't hold his caffeine

And Spike has problems adding

And Russ always dies when we play Neverwinter nights
And I miss out on stake dances

cuz I just don't give a daaaaaaaamn

And I’ve never been to Boise in the fall

(curse funglez!)

We are the college students who don’t do anything

We just stay at home and play vidjya games

And if you ask us go do stuff

We'll just tell you WE DON'T DO STUFF

.

I'm always reading Japanimation about pointless toilet humor

Our bishop always flogs me cuz I'm sleeping right through church
And I'm always quoting strong bad while I constantly miss my sleeeeep

And I’ve never been to Boise in the fall

(ha haa haaa!)

Loser Captains log, 2004...

who be this man who moved into our floor!

And why be he so full of contradictions (yar!)

we dont know who he be

but we're down with D&D

we dont wake up before one

but we love to watch Trigun

we dont smoke, we dont chew

we get trashed on mountain dew!

I cant get good grades...

Jeff's never asked a girl out...

And Dan can't go to Wal-mart without buying YuGiOh cards...
Our social lives are bathed in yogurt

And look as bad in spandex...

But we’ve never been to Boise in the fall!

(let's hear it for the newest generation of america, give em a big hand!)

CUZ We are the college students who don’t do anything

We just stay at home and play video games

And if you ask us to come out and be social,

WE'LL JUST TELL YOU: WE DONT BE SOCIAAAAAAAAAL!!!

Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

What, you were expecting an epic thread about Fungles?

I hate the damn fairy.

A Piece of Random

(click to enlarge)

This one probably looks a bit weird. And aye, that it is. This is just a random picture I drew of my cast from my story called Labyrinths and Lizards. Yes, its a play on Dungeons and Dragons. The story itself was a random, zany little deal set in fantasy world; this picture, obviously, set in modern times if they were a band, hahaha. L&L was a new thing for me for several reasons. First off, it took place in a different world than the rest of my stories. All my other pieces have taken place within the same world, just in different time periods. L&L was on it's own world, though it DID have cameos of just about all my favorite characters. This story was a great one because, as I found I enjoy, most of my characters were very powerful. Either in the beginning or over time, they had reached a point, a "hero" status, where people knew them by sight. The cast of L&L was new for me because they were the underdogs. They were technically 'level 3' from the beginning of the story to the end. Imagine a big epic fight with nothing but tiny soldiers to fight against? That was the idea I was shooting for here. Rather than a huge epic save the world battle, it was several characters struggling to survive in the starter zone.

And now, for the cast. Starting clockwise from the top left:

The money grubbing 'manager' of the band, was a red-cloak wearing kleptomaniac named Aurelia. If it wasn't nailed down, Aurelia could steal it. Funny due to the good-aligned Paladin in the group, Aurelia always boasted if he didn't see it, it shouldn't count against his alignment. She has purple hair, and like I mentioned before, a bright red cloak. Odd garb for a rogue / thief, wouldn't you say?

The guy banging on the drums is Marig the Lion Man. Lion Man set forth from his village with an epic tale to look for a relic that would save his people. Unfortunately, he has a weakness for the nectar of the Mountain Dew Berry (sound familiar?) After a drunken spectacle of biblical proportions, Lion Man forgot what his quest was and wandered aimlessly until he met the crew of L&L. A beast of a warrior, Lion Man is armed with a giant axe, a leather vest and a big black kilt. Don't call it a dress; he's killed lesser people for saying so. Lion Man is a shaman by nature, albeit a violent one.

On the spin-tables is a character I owe credit to my buddy Mike Marchant, as he aided haevily in her creation. Her name is Sharla, a beautiful, blonde High Elven bard. Her songs are melodious and her Lore knowledge are practically unmatched, but one thing really sticks out about Sharla- her lack of battle prowess. More than willing to heal, Sharla prefers to leave the fighting to her comrades, sticking to songs and her favorite spell of all time: Magic Missle.

The dwarf up front with the axe(!) would be Gamlek McKillumthings, no relation to Surly McKillenthings. A pilot that was exiled from his dwarven kingdom for his many.. Er... 'colorful' inventions, Gamlek began selling his services as a taxi cab, ferrying people to and fro in his Dirigible. One day, a motley little crew hired him for a flight when they got shot down, forcing Gamlek to accompany them until he acquired the funds to repair his beloved air-boat. Gamlek adds not only force to the fight, but humor as well. Most of his battle tactics revolve around his Dwarven Blunderbuss, plus many bombs and trinkets, including explosive-sheep. He wields a mean axe, but prefers range.

The singer on the right, the one screaming into the mic, would be the Bloodkin Elf Sho'Ryu. Sho'Ryu is another of my favorite characters of all time, falling short of Ruun in number of his appearances. Sho has appeared in many of my writings, most often as a humorous, womanizing sorcerer, which you may find odd for an Elf. He hits on just about anything female, including an Ogress one time. His skills vary depending on what story he's in; in this one, he's just a level 3 sorcerer with a loudmouth Bat for a familiar named Vikktor. The group hates Vikktor as his level of obnoxiousness is unmatched, and Sho'Ryu often uses Vikktor as leverage to get what he wants, or to make a point. Sho can be smart when he wants to, and has the ability to identify most spells he sees, whether he can cast them or not.

The other vocalist on the left there with the cross around his neck would be Dante. Dante hasn't had many roles in my stories, but I love him to death because in this work, while the whole group is spastic and funny, Dante can often be found thinking and pondering seriously. That doesn't sound like me, does it? Well, the story takes place on Dante's shoulder; he's basically the narrator. The cool thing about the story is all the subtle details that Dante notices and the things he does. In fact, by the end of the story, many people would look at what Dante did and go "Whoa! All along he was doing something meaningful!" It comes as a surprise to most people, but that was my idea. Serious-faced, but deadly in battle, the Paladin Dante sports a mean long-sword, a range of Divine-based spells and a reforged steel shield he received from his days of youth... from an enigmatic young female that is no longer around. She lives on in Dante's memory, protecting him from harm through her shield he bears.

Lastly, on the left there, wielding a giant guitar, and, in battle, an even bigger Battle-axe: the barbarian Spikes. Spikes fits the typical Barbarian berzerker status: Huge orc that isn't too pretty, but he's strong as hell. Strangely, he has a certain fear of all things cute and fuzzy, as well as spiders. If the target is not one of those three things, Spikes will kill it. It doesn't matter what level it is. Sho and Aurelia have a bad habit of using Spikes to set off traps when they can't figure out how to disarm it, then resurrecting the Orc when the trap kills him. Spikes doesn't mind, after all, he found a use outside of combat, but it irritates Dante when they do it. Spikes shows intelligence from time to time, and found himself the bearer of a great magical artifact in the story. Lucky for him!

Not picture, because I think I forgot to add him, either that or I couldn't find a spot for him, would be the elven Ranger Jenos. Jenos, like Lion Man, set out from the Elven kingdom with an errand to accomplish, until Dante pointed out that Jenos' quest was impossible, and that the elves were just trying to get rid of Jenos. Saddened, Jenos joined Dante and crew on their quest. He just has one real problem: his eyes were cursed in ages past by a sorcerer. A near-sighted Elven RANGER? That just screams hilarity, doesn't it?! Jenos has a natural leadership flair, though, and keeps the group together when certain events rear and things get rough.

8 little adventurers out trying to stop a mad evil at level 3? Yup, they're insane. That's Labyrinths and Lizards :D The first story I've written that's more focused on comedy than drama or, for that matter, plot. The plot just kinda seems to happen while the characters are bickering, and then someone goes: "Hey look. Plot happened!"

Ascension - A peek into the mind of a Flake

You.

Yes, you.

Come here for a moment.

Tell me, do you believe in Fate? No, of course not. I mean who does these days? How about God? Does the thought of the Almighty frighten you, or is it the possibility of higher life? I'd attest to you my friend, watch thine ass. Why would I surmise these words to you, well.... It's quite simple really. I am certain of higher life. Oh?

Because I've seen it.

Sit down, friend, I'm going to share with you a tale. Nay, a story about something that you may not believe. I've shared this with many people in the world today, and some have said what I will tell you is impossible. Some have called me crazy. Others have said I do cocaine. But what these philistines do not understand is the utmost seriousness of my story. One thing that I will tell you right now, is that everything I am going to tell you is true.

Years ago, in a college much like the one down the street from your house, there existed a group of young crazy men. Sounds a bit too familiar, right? There occurred within this group peculiar rituals, some of which include watching cartoons til the dead hours of the night, or traveling to Arby’s to separate foil from the plastic. There was a man named Jake, and a man named James. The two of them partook of a ritual practiced by many in this day and age, the art that is Caffeine consumption. Most people, bah, 2 or 3 drinks and they act silly. They know when to stop, for they have self-control! Plus they are wussies. For is it not man's indomitable spirit to abuse his body as much as possible while trying to maintain his sanity?

I say unto you, sanity is overrated.

Jake and James believed this to be so, and consumed many a day caffeinated beverages, enjoying the sugary rush that comes with it. One night, there occurred a consumption too many, and the two men were overcome with a vision, no, AN ENTITY! Of biblical proportions. Transfixed, there, before their VERY eyes, behold! A great beast of untapped power! It was a man! No, it was a Lion Man, a large two legged beast wearing a kilt and carrying a great ax. And his words could be heard, echoing throughout the room in a magnificent clarity, threatening to execute the two men if they ever spoke of his presence.

This of course forced the words "wtf" from Jake and James, as this ordeal made abso-f*ggin-lutely no sense.

This being, Jake was convinced, was a Higher Life Form! And if consuming abhorrent amounts of caffeine would allow one to see the entity, perhaps drinking even MORE of it would allow them to join that dimension of existence!

Jake and James thus began their long and ardorous journey to find that caffeined Nirvana, that dimension of reality where your blood was replaced with sugar and unadultered energy source was at your every whim and desire.

They met with failure, time after time. Consuming such amounts of liquid was hard on their minds and even harder on their bladders, but they did not give up. Many people called them fools. But this, only fueled the desire, nay, the NEED to find this.

I speak of these wills as much as they were my own... Because they were. Yes my friend. I am Jake. I am he who sought the impossible, he who craved what cannot be touched, who chugged that which should not be chugged. I did not give up in my conquest for that unholy state of mind, a condition that, one dark night...

I found.

It was a Friday night. A bright full moon adorned the sky as the werewolves hunted their prey. Most people were out having a social life, but not I. Some friends and I had gathered around in someones room to have a few drinks and play a few games. It started out as innocent fun, until someone suggested a drinking game. Crash Team Racing... Mario Kart... Halo... All these mad multi-player mayhem matches separated the men from the boys, the strong from the weak, the insanely idiotic from the self-controlled.

Drink after drink went down. A few passed out from their sugary inebriation. Others were smart and called it quits and went home. James and I were determined to reach our goal, and had been consuming mountain dews, rockstars, Surge's, and other such caffeinated cups of purity throughout the night. As the night waxed old, James did pass out under the pressure of his bladder and called it quits, but I; I continued! I perservered! Something in me kept pushing those cans up, drinking, growing, reaching, stretching, chugging more and more as can after can hit the floor! The sugary liquid burned its way down my throat as my attention span grew shorter and shorter and my bladder grew fatter and fatter, but the drinks, they kept going! The strength kept coming, until, at one moment, my feet buckled, my legs, they refused to work as a darkness tried to overtake me, I fell! I tried to fight away the black tentacles, the overwhelming madness that threatened to harvest my soul and cast me off into Oblivion! ...

Until...

I opened my eyes, and found the strength to stand. I looked around for a moment... I peeked out the window... I watched a car drive by, a person walking down the street, a bird defecating in mid-flight... All in perfect slow motion. Their movements were like liquid poetry. And then I knew...

I had reached the state of Pure Caffeination.

I left the room and walked the roads of the world, taking in all. My emotions, my instincts, the sights, the sounds were all being fed directly into my brain. And for once, one beautiful sweet moment, the entire world made sense! I knew all!

I knew and understood the dichotomy of good and evil.

I knew why up was up and down was down.

I understood women.

I understood the atomic theory.

I understood why people feel the need to drive stupidly fast everywhere they go.

I understood why dogs chased cats.

Why cats chased birds.

Why birds crap on windshields.

Why people who hate RP servers are such hypocritical morons.

Why the Irish enjoy drinking themselves to death.

Why history repeats.

Why everyone of every color is racist and too uptight to notice.

Why emo-ness seems to take over people when life is so good to them.

How our minds work, how our bodies work.

Why green means go and red means stop.

Why people tell you to hold it in in public.

Why there is Braille on drive-thru ATMs.

Why Thom hates bikers.

I KNEW EVERYTHING.

The world in all it's mysterious and wonders and confusions and all the whys and the when's and the where's, I understood them all! I had achieved what no one believed I could. I had reached the next realm of existence...

Unfortunately it didn't last long as I woke up at my friend David's apartment on his couch with no pants on and he, nor his roommates unable to explain how I had gotten in.

You think I’m joking, but I’m not.

Nevertheless, though I am unable to ascertain as to how my drunken stupor lead me into my friend's place, and though I did overhear a while later something about a broken window, the moments of my ascension into that caffeinated Nirvana are embedded in my memory forever. I will never forget those moments of crystal clarity, as I knew my existence and all my dealings up to that point had been for naught.

And now, I must bid you adieu.

Hmm?

What is the meaning of Life, you ask?

Well... Let me just say this:

Live your life with no regrets, always smile, and have faith. Faith in whatever you believe, and maybe, when the day comes that we meet again, you can tell me.

Weekly Comic 2

(click to enlarge)

'This is what happens when Flake tries to be avant-garde'

Moving is finally over and done. I'm sick of it, frankly. This makes the 19th time I've moved in my life, maybe. I lost count a few years ago. Thanks for everyone who helped us move and gave us free meals.

Weekly Comic

(click to enlarge)

"Artists - their own worst enemies"

Anyone who disagrees with me on this should be shot... And is a communist.

Random Sketch

Figuring this is one of my favorite characters I've ever created, I figure it'd only be justice to give her the limelight for the first character sketch thingie. So here goes:

Name: Ruun Del'Cyrious
Female Human Fencer
approx. 21 years of age.

Ruun is a versatile character, such that I've used and reused her again and again in different stories. She has a spot, major or minor, in just about everything I've written. Her most prominent role is in a story called 'The Torn Crimson Banner'. At 16, was sold into slavery (sadness) and was on her way to a brothel (yikes) when an enigmatic and freshly graduated Alystare Myskell (more on him in the future) rescued her. He was actually being paid to "protect the merchandise" until he found out the merch was a live shipment. He set her free, gave her some gold and told her to seek a lifestyle that she chose. The problem here was Ruun was uneducated and the cliche'd example of a character who's naivety outshines all else. Still, Ruun sought to carve a life for herself. She made do studying and eventually becoming a Paladin, a holy knight. Three years later, she met up with Alystare again after his near-death accident and sudden interest with peace between the warring factions. They ranked among a mercenaries guild, who, at first sought jobs for cash, and eventually joined up with the Imperial army and sought to end the war through force. Alystare left the army, much to Ruun's chagrin, and began his epic struggle to unite all the races that existed in the land, a notion he went into the history books for.

Then came the fated day: forces from each of the warring factions gathered together at the ruins of an Ancient Castle to negotiate peace talks. It was then that the conniving minds of the Dai'Tzan (more on them later, all ya need to know is they are BAD) struck, sealing the ruins off from the outside armies. Every man, woman, creature, Kiiathun Orc, TarJeuh, Felojin, Shadow Elf, etc etc was trapped, and brutally murdered by the undead essence the Dai'Tzan raised against them. This was the famous battle that Alystare Miskell vanished at, striking a blow to the peace talks. This is also where Ruun's character took a hit; caught up in the mobs of undead, Ruun came face to face with one of the most Powerful Dai'Tzan, a giant Minotaur named Kragus Zuol. In the fight, Ruun's sword-arm was bitten off (hence why she's missing her left arm in the above picture), but she managed to still strike Kragus down by picking up his own cursed blade and killing him with it. However, laying hands on a such an evil weapon twisted Ruun's mind and soul, and her Holy Diety fled from her. Without her God, Ruun began to despair and called her faith into question, and was finally shattered when the battle was over. She was the only survivor of the Battle of Bael Gar.

Clerics and Priests could sense the darkness in the sword Ruun held, which was literally chained to her arm and was as much a part of her as her flesh as anything. The blade, and the curse of Kragus living inside her, would kill her if ever removed. Of course, the Church valued the destruction of Kragus, sadly, decided to sacrifice Ruun's life along with him. This conflict of right vs. wrong drove Ruun made and forced her to flee for her life into the wilderness, where she lived with a dear friend, the Troll Shaman named Glorte, for the next year.

This year gave rise to the fabled hero Decimus Sparda, who deserves the spotlight to tell his story as it would take too long to write here. Ruun stayed out of sight of anyone until a chance encounter upon a small town that was being destroyed by what people had thought was a demon. It turns out that it was a reincarnated Alystare, Ruun's old friend and interest (there was a love story there, but I chose not to touch on it) Alystare was under the Dai'Tzan's control, used as a weapon to destroy the forces of Good while the Dai'Tzan sought to unlock the power of the World Trees, the great locks that separated the Abyss from the living world. Many events later, Ruun joined Decimus and, uniting with the Elves and the Kiiathun, struck back at the Dai'Tzan's undead armies. Decimus challenged Alystare to a fight, a fight that he slowly began to lose until Ruun stepped in. Neither Alystare nor Decimus even saw Ruun as she charged into the fight, moving in between their blades. She was killed by Alystare, a notion that broke through to his human side and eventually snapped the Dai'Tzan's hold on him. It was very tragic. With Ruun's blood spilled, Kragus was brought back to life only to get killed again minutes later by a tearful and distraught Alystare.

Ruun's life wasn't a happy one, but she perservered through it anyway, a character trademark I enjoy even though she wasn't very smart, and, for a while, physically handicapped. Another story I wrote, called "When the Hammer Falls" occurred in the SAME world as the above story, only hundreds of years later, starring the same bad guy Dai'Tzan peoples. A 'Ruune' shows up there too, I realized, and I spun her off as a descendant of the Ruun from the Crimson Banner story. Given that the original Ruun never married nor produced a family, and was a slave for her youth, I'll leave it at that as a mystery for how her bloodline continued.

Ruun also has a very heavy role in my novel, "A Redemption Through Blood," except happier. She has both arms, a better outlook and attitude on life. This story takes place in a completely different world than the other two stories, though, it should be noted.

So there ya have it. I really enjoy writing Ruun, she was the first female character I really felt for, and one I've related with for years.

Thought.

"But us soldiers? People want you do to everything. Every time someone thieves someone else’s gold, or some Dark Priests rituallistically light up the night sky, or a rival nation’s army marches on the kingdom next door, soldiers are pleaded to and cried for to do something about it! Where were YOU then, eh?! Soldiers of any rank swear fealty to any kingdom, to serve and to protect and yet were are ridiculed when we can’t make everything better! We were HUMAN, dammit! We had limits! Don’t you stand there and question me about my morals, you hypocrite. Even as the ‘Grand Crusader’ everyone made me out to be, even with a formation of men riding at my back, we couldn’t do everything. We couldn’t save Juine Harbor from burning. We couldn’t rescue all the citizens who were slaughtered. And then everyone blamed us for it! They actually pinned the destruction of the harbor under MY name! We were doing our duty and by our own Gods-be-damned mortality, we had to report our failure. There are a lot of wicked people in this world and evil things that are happening every day and sometimes, we just have to accept the limitations that we cannot do everything."

Arcanas Mikk'Amn
Former Grand Crusader
Bladehaven Unit III
"The Reckoning" chapter 2