The Box (Part XV)

Posted on December 22, 2013 by R. Richardsson

The tunnels began to widen as he drew ever closer to the lair of the beast. The darkness fled before a soft golden glow which spread into the tunnels as if to reach for the one approaching. The breath of the dragon stank of rotten flesh and grew unbearably hot as he closed the distance between himself and its lair.

All of these things he noticed with only a passing interest. His mind had turned within itself as he reviewed what magic he had prepared to use. His arm shook beneath the weight of the elf’s sword and he absently shifted it from one hand to the other as he pressed on.

He knew full well the power of the creature he was about to face. After claiming his master’s tower for his own, he’d spent many hours pouring himself into the research necessary for such a confrontation. Many books had succumbed to him their knowledge. Through trial and error, he’d summoned different creatures from various planes of existence, including (but not limited to) demons. It had taken many years off of his life to do so, but he’d finally coerced the answers he needed.

The ancient dragon was looked upon as a god amongst other creatures. It had lived for many millenia, consuming man and magic alike, gaining as much knowledge as it had in power, over those beneath it. Malifgorranaka had become a name that was not only feared by every other species, but of its own as well!

There was very little to be found in the books. Most were stories of the creature’s deeds, of how it had leveled entire nations as it sought to placate its hunger. They were of heroes who stood before it, giving their lives so that others might live. Or they were of villains who sought it out for their own power, never to be heard from again.

One thing remained consistent in these stories; Malifgorranaka’s hunger. It was written to be a beast even greater than the monster itself. For nearly a thousand years, it decimated entire landscapes in order to quell the ache in its midsection.

But it was not just a hunger for flesh. It was the hunger for knowledge, for power, that drove it as well. It was said that as the creature consumed its enemies, it absorbed its knowledge as well.

It’s not known if The Great Flame retained said knowledge, only that the next time it was seen, it used whatever magic or power it had taken from its previous victim.

Oramiir again switched the blade from one hand to the other as his mind replayed the things he had learned. The books had been easy enough, his former master had done all of the work for him.

The summonings were slightly more difficult.

He didn’t spend enough time creating the protection glyphs around the circle and as a result, it was a Pit Fiend which nearly killed him. The cambion, a half fiend/half human, had found the weakest point of the circle and had broken it with-in seconds of the summoning. It not for the contingency spell hidden in his former master’s cloak, which he had been wearing at the time, he would have been consumed by the creature’s magic.

The contingency, however, was a defense against other worldly creatures, and when it sent its flames against him, reacted with a spell designed to paralyze such beings.

He had tortured the creature for the entire duration of the spell, by which time he’d also prepared the banishing ritual needed to send it back to its plane. From the foul demon he’d learned of the dragon’s weakness against elfin steel.

“STEP FORTH INTO THE LAIR OF MALIFGORRANAKA AND BEAR WITNESS TO THE END.”

The voice of the dragon thundered off of the walls, bombarding him with its fury and pulling him back to the present. His arm faltered as the blade suddenly became too heavy for him to bear, and its tip lowered to the ground with a dull metallic clank.

The tunnel had come to an end and before him was the lair of the ancient red he had come to slay. Whilst lost in his thoughts, it had widened until it was nearly twenty paces across, with the ceiling being nearly as high. The edges of the wall rounded smoothly at the tunnel’s end, seamlessly becoming a part of the cavern beyond.

The lair was massive.

It spread out further than he could see and for a brief moment, he thought he had returned to the surface, albeit, at night. The floor was littered with gold, gems and treasures, and there was not a single bit of stone visible beneath all the riches.

While the treasure was stacked into various piles around the cavern, none were so large as the mountain on the farthest end. The gold stretched along the wall, where it was piled higher even his former master’s tower!

“By the gods,” he muttered in awe. “What have I done?”

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXIII)

Posted on December 22, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

It took an eternity for the door to open. The hinges groaned in protest as they attempted to deny the intruder and warn everyone else in the same breath.

His stance was wide, each foot straddling the trail of blood leading into the room beyond. Though he wasn’t conscious of his efforts, some hidden part of him insisted that he didn’t step in the viscous fluids below. In the same regard, he pushed the door open with the back of his knuckles.

Never mind the countless hours he had spent in this house over the last few weeks. Forget the fact that his bodily fluids could be found in multiple rooms, as well as in the person on the other side of the door.

She cowered at the foot of the kitchen counter, a blubbering mass of naked flesh, tears and unheard apologies. As he looked down to her; as his gaze traveled over this quivering mess he had recently shared a bed with, the contents of his stomach curdled. Protruding from her massive belly was the missing piece of the end-table.

Blood continued to bubble from the end of the hollow tube. It ran out the end, onto her stomach and split into two crimson rivers, each which contributed to the growing pool beneath her. Her skin was growing pasty, even by her standards.

“Scott,” she begged weakly of him. “Please?”

Her voice quivered as he continued to look down at her. For a fleeting moment, a puzzled expression came over his face as she spoke, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. He had seen her lips move, but the words that were spoken had originated in his head.

“You’re crazy.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he slowly inhaled through his nose. He could feel his body temperature rising as his old familiar feelings returned. He was in complete control.

He opened his eyes and snapped his gaze upon Lucy Winters for the final time.

“I’m. Not. Crazy, you fat fucking BITCH,” he screamed. His voice was so loud that the cabinet doors buzzed from its volume.

“I’m SORRY Scott,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean it!” She coughed and a spray of blood flew into the air, some of which dotted the surface of his right shoe.

“Crazy, crazy, CRA-ZY,” the other taunted in sing-song. “You’re crazy and you know it, Mm-ah, uh HEE-haw!”

“Oh my fucking GAWD! Will you shut the fuck UP,” he roared, lunging with his hands for her throat.

From the corner of his vision, barely perceptible outside of the tunnel of his rage and certainly too subtle for him to immediately react, her right hand raised to intercept him. There was a sudden flare of white-hot pain in his abdomen and as his hands wrapped around her trunk-like neck, he stopped and looked down between them.

Her hand clutched the end of a butcher knife she had been holding. He couldn’t see much more than three inches of the blade, however, for the rest was buried in his own abdomen.

“You, stabbed me,” he croaked in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” she answered. Her voice wavered with true apologetic emotion.

“You, STABBED me,” he asked again. This time his words were spoken less with confusion and more with outrage.

He pulled himself away from her, towering over her as he looked down at the handle protruding from his body.

“Leave it in. It’s the only thing that’s going to keep you from bleeding to death with her, on the kitchen floor.”

The other spoke, unbeknownst to him, through his own mouth.

“Wha…” she began to say.

Scott raised his foot and slammed it down onto the end-table’s leg, driving it further through her. She reached weakly toward her killer, no longer able to see his face as she struggled onto the last threads of life in her.

Seconds later, her hand fell limply at her side.

“Shut your fucking mouth when we’re talking,” Scott and the Other said simultaneously. “We’re dealing with a life or death situation here.”

Local Author Fair – After the Curtain Call

Posted on December 15, 2013 by R. Richardsson

To be fair, this image was taken ‘outside’ the Local Author Fair.

It was everything I expected it to be, and it was not. My first booth was stationed just inside the entrance to the library.

I was originally going to share my table with another author, but due to the weather, she wasn’t able to make it.

The check-in time was between 1-2pm, and having arrived exactly halfway between those times, the hour and a half wait was excruciating. I’m thankful that my wife was able to attend the event with me. Not only was the small-talk nice, but she got a chance to see the world that I have become a part of.

Even though there were a handful of tables just inside the circular entrance of the library, we were the last authors seen as people moved into the main section of the library itself. (From where I’m seated and to my right.)

Reactions were mixed. My first visitor was a devout Christian from a local Baptist Church. Drawn to my table by the graphic cover of my novella, he quickly began to question me; first about my book and then about my faith.

I immediately sensed that he wasn’t interested in my book. Even though I described the synopsis, the protagonist and the reason for the stigmatic Jesus on the cover, he was more interested in my soul than in my work. The more I talked about my book, the less he listened until finally, I answered the one question I had been avoiding, (which he asked each time after “What’s it about?”) Whether or not he was satisfied by the answer, he beat a hasty retreat and I only saw him from afar for the rest of the evening.

For the next hour, and until the 3pm start time, I passed out many business cards but not a single book.

Now, I should mention that there was also a Novice Writers Forum which was offered to a limited number of people. A small handful of Best Selling Authors spoke before a small group of people about the publishing and marketing process of one’s book.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend this but I did get a chance to speak with a few authors, as well as those aspiring to be, as they exited the meeting. One woman in particular stayed at my table for several minutes as she asked about my experiences as a self-published author and expressed her desires to do so with her own work.

I wish she would have shared her name with us while she was there. I asked, but I’m not sure she heard me.

She was an elderly cancer survivor, writing as her energy allowed her to, who came to the Fair to speak with published authors and discover what she could about the finishing process. She made her way around the library via electric wheelchair and when she spoke, you really had to make the effort to listen. The natural acoustics of the building, combined with the dozens of people making their way through it, made it difficult to hear.

We spoke for ten minutes and after taking a card and leaving the promise to read some of my online work, she made her way to next table.

Next to me were two authors.

One, a Bob Fraught, was the first author I spoke to who was a part of the Fair itself. This was also the first of two times that night that I showed just how nervous I was.

I had seen Bob and his wife arrive earlier that night, she even introduced herself as he was setting up their side of the table, but hadn’t paid very close attention as he was removing his coat and scarf. As a result, when he came to my table, I inadvertently asked if he was part of the Fair as well.

“Yeah, dumbass, he’s right next to you,” says my inner voice as he confirms this in his own words.

Open mouth, insert foot.

But at least he remained friendly about it. He asked about my work and also described his as well. If you have a chance, click on his link and see if his work interests you! It describes his journey through various major surgeries. He’s a man with a SUPER positive outlook on life and one I’m happy to say I had the pleasure getting to know, even if my skills for observation were a bit off.

He returned to his chair when his table-buddy, Tad Pritchett, arrived and began to set up on his side, but more on him later.

It was 3pm, time for the show to begin!

The library was abuzz as people began to trickle in to support their favorite [local authors]. We three thought we were sure to see some major traffic at this time, but as they came through the main doors they turned and entered the hall where the majority of the authors were stationed.

And so the first hour came and went without so much a single person. Bob and Tad stood off to the side visiting while my wife and I did the same at our table. Because we were stationed across from the checkout counter, we did see many familiar faces as they were leaving, but they were there for the sole purpose of borrowing and not buying.

Eventually, an events coordinator came around and invited us into the main hall, where there were several open chairs from authors who had either left early or hadn’t arrived (also due to the weather), and soon we were part of the cool kids crowd.

Okay. I apologize if this isn’t easy to see. Getting a clear picture uploaded to my computer wasn’t the easy task I envisioned it to be.

I soon found myself seated at table next to an ex-FBI agent; Mark Bouton, who was selling a number of books that day. We exchanged pleasantries, as well as talked about our books for a bit, before settling in for the last half of the event.

There was a lot more activity during this hour than the first. Of course there was! We were just inside the door and a couple of tables in! If you look at the first map, this new seating is in a hall off to the left of the round room in the Rotunda. We were seated at the left end of table 27, Tad moved to table 26, while Bob and his wife had table 15 to themselves.

As I mentioned, there was a lot more traffic in here. What I have yet to tell you is that by this time, they were only there for the children’s books, history books and one erotic novel (which I seen tucked under every person’s arm as they walked by!) Actually, it was my wife that pointed it out to me, but from that point on we counted seven of them traveling by! The verdict? Mommy porn wins the day!

Okay, that might not be true. Another author, Charles A. Silvestri, seemed to be pushing the books out faster than anyone else on our side of the room!

By this time, Mr. Tad Pritchett came by the table for a visit. We talked a bit about our books, after which he expressed his interest in my own, despite his phobia of vampires, and mentioned that he would like to buy a copy. He also expressed an interest in self-publishing and mentioned having some questions he would like to send to me, to which I more than happily agreed.

So it would come to be that Tad and I would exchange books. By the time I was able to get my own copy a week later, he had already finished mine, and with some very complimentary words to boot! We’ve since agreed to exchange reviews on each other’s work and I am happy to have had the chance to meet him.

The Local Author Fair was coming to an end. The events coordinator made her rounds to each table, explaining that they were closing the hall soon and we began to pack our things together. I had only sold one book, but I left with something much more meaningful.

From Tad, I have a book about the Battle of the Bulge, from the words of those who fought in that war.

From Bob I found that despite how much pain and suffering one can or must go through, there is always a silver lining.

And from Mark I received an offer to join in a local author’s group that meets regularly to discuss their current work and share samples of their writing.

No, I didn’t successfully share my book as much as I would have liked. What I did was meet some wonderful people and gain some very lucrative opportunities. And I say lucrative, because a writer can only stand to profit from an author’s group, as well as the open invitation to return to next year’s Local Author Fair, right?

Of course I can.

This review was written about a book signing I took part of on December 8th for my first book; The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio. Information about this novella can be found by clicking on the Dusty Tomes menu tab on my website.

R. Richardsson