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On Gods and Demons

Not much is known about the Gods origins, only that they made themselves known once humanity had matured and began to seek guidance within the stars. Some clerics and shamans have suggested that the beings were given creation because of the faith humanity bestowed upon them and that they exist in actuality because of humanity, and not the other way around. These teachings and hypothesis generally took place exclusively in private sittings with trusted friends, as they were considered heresy by the established religions. The churches and tribal leaders all taught that it was only through the grace of the Gods that humanity was able to continue to draw breath. Now though the Gods were numerous for a time and had many followers to each of them, it was the Goddess Ahrin who would most captivate the hearts of brave and honorable men, and would eventually save all of us.

Ahrin was the daughter of the ancient God Tryst and his wife Lillian, who was said to hold more beauty than the entire earth and night sky combined. Tryst was the God associated with Justice and was paid tribute in the form of disgraced men’s blood. Murderers and rapists were especially favored, but the blood of men who had selfishly destroyed innocence in a pure heart, was an exceptional delicacy to this unforgiving God. Lillian was recognized as the Goddess of honest love. It was taught by her daughters, as her followers called themselves, that when you honestly love someone it is a selfless thing and that when such a union is struck, Lillian blesses the couple with a new star that will shine eternally in the night sky as a reminder of their miraculous union. So these were the roots that the Goddess Ahrin would grow from. Justice and Love. Ahrin would make both hers and combine them into something so beautiful, that the hidden darkness would long for nothing more than to rip it apart, piece by piece.

“For as long as the Gods have guarded us and loved us, the Demons have hated us and sought to destroy us” – Tyrien, the Blind

Ahrin learned much from her parents. From her father Tryst she learned that for every crime, there must be a fitting punishment, but also she learned forgiveness from her mother and recognized the weakness in humanity. She taught the concept of redemption to her shamans and showed them that a man once thought devoid of goodness could in turn become one of her most faithful. Tyrien was such an example, but his story will be recounted later. Once Ahrin had fully matured into a Goddess herself and had been established in the hearts of mankind, something happened that changed the face of the earth forever. The Demons crawled from their hidden space and waged a war upon the heavens and the Gods that occupied them.

“The sky was crimson on that day and every good man and woman felt their hearts shudder in their chests. Then all that could be heard were the warcries of the Fallen, as they swept like a violent ocean upon our cities” – Tyrien, the Blind

It was taught by all religions and tribes that Demons were given life by the darkness that lies in every human heart. Humanity had proven, even in it’s short life, that it was capable of horrendous acts. It was said that whenever these vile acts would take place, the earth would soak up the darkness and bury it deep below to try and keep it from the innocent. In this act the earth unintentionally created the very thing that would eternally seek to destroy it, the Demons. There they would lie in wait, growing ever stronger as the years passed and the atrocities continued to add up. They would reach out above them and slowly twist the hearts of weak and evil men, building an army with which to destroy that which they hated most, light, love and justice. Finally the time came when the cunning beasts had set all of their pieces upon the board, and declared themselves to the world. They were numerous and heavily armed but the Gods fought with endless bravery, and the weight of their creation gave them purpose, which they violently and valiantly defended. The Demons army attacked the Gods Temples and Shrines on the earth while they simultaneously assaulted the heavens, the fear and panic this inspired in the Gods followers was felt by them, so much sadness can be distracting. The Gods slowly began to fall one by one. Tryst, seeing the tide of battle begin to shift against them, told Ahrin she must flee. She must hide somewhere safe and stay alive at all costs. He warned her that if all the Gods should fall then the earth would turn barren, and follow them all into oblivion. Lillian begged her protesting daughter to please heed the command of her father, for if she also were to die that day then all of the lives taken would mean nothing. Ahrin did as her parents bid and fled, but not before a particularly ugly Demon had seen her and had immediately hated her for her beauty and grace. This Demon was made of the most ugly and hateful actions of humanity, because they had all been premeditated. Lunifex was his taken name, meaning cunning in the demonic tongue, and he felt a hatred for Ahrin so strong that he gave chase and left the battle. This would prove to save his life that day. Tryst and Lillian fought together as one. They blurred together and everywhere they moved,  demonic limbs could be seen flying. Tryst favored a long Katana shaped blade, while his wife Lillian used two daggers that extended above and below the handle. So deadly was their dance that it even began to appear the day may still be won. Alas the Demons blades were drenched in a thick black poison that had finally began to work it’s way into the Gods unwavering strength. The Gods fell until only Tryst and Lillian remained alive, but even their guards were dipping and they knew it was simply a matter of time until they too were slain. They then did something that gave humanity and their daughter, the chance that they needed. Setting his sword to his chest, Tryst spoke the last words he would ever be able to form. “Our lives for theirs, let all here become one”, afterwards he and his precious love, Lillian, put blade to heart and all went silent in the heavens. All went still.

“And so began the war between our fair Goddess and the vile Lunifex, last of the Demons, by the love and sacrifice of great Tryst, and his beloved Lillian” – Tyrien, the Blind

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Posted by on May 7, 2015 in Small Tales


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The Land of Raven Hills

It is necessary to understand several things about the very land and the native people of what would one day become Raven Hills. Nestled in between two monolithic mountains, it is geographically the perfect location for a settlement due to the ease with which it could be defended. This of course drew the native tribes attention and many wars were fought over the area. The final battle that took place there was one that would be so violent that it would cut the very spirit of the earth and leave that ground scarred for as long as it exists.

After more than a decade of war and countless lives slain, be it on the field of battle or in sacrifice to pagan Gods, only two tribes remained. The tribe that had finally claimed the territory worshipped a Goddess they called Ahrin and taught her philosophy of love and kindness. As a matter of fact, the tribe of Ahrin was made up of most of the conquered tribes that would have been wiped out if not for the intervention of Ahrin’s followers. For as sure as night opposes day, there was a wicked tribe that had wandered down from the mountains during the wars and had caused more horror than could ever be told.

The mountain tribe worshipped a demon that they believed exists at the heart of the earth. Lunifex, as the demon was called, demanded sacrifices at the fall of dusk each and every day. Though the shamans of Lunifex believed that animal sacrifices were enough to calm the demon, they understood that he wanted more. Through ancient rituals and gallons of blood, it is said that these shamans of the Lunifex tribe accomplished something that spelled the end for the peaceful tribe of Ahrin.

Ahrin’s people were warned of course, for their Goddess was a loving one who only wanted for her people to be happy and at peace. The shamans of the tribe of Ahrin were given warning to pack the people up and flee, warnings that were ignored by the ruling class who had the most invested in the land. A command was passed from the council, made up of the wealthy and eldest of the tribe, that none should seek to flee. If any should leave, they would be stricken from the tribe and their names would be as a curse on all tongues. A large group of the tribe, lead by the most faithful and humble of Ahrin’s shamans, defied the command and as one walked out of the northern pass. No spears or axes were raised against them, in fact some could say that sadness lingered throughout the land that day as the tribe was split almost in two. The people who left were led by a man named Tyrien the Blind, known as such for the never-ending faith he held in Ahrin’s tachings. It was said that he would even blindly walk to the center of the earth, were Ahrin to command it. Tyrien and the ones who followed him could never know as they walked away that the tribe remaining only had two more days left to live.

The shamans of Lunifex had long since gone into hiding and were in fact thought annihilated by the tribe of Ahrin. In caves within the mountain they had hidden for over five years, slowly kidnapping any of the tribe of Ahrin they could and imprisoning them deep within the mountain. So dark was it where they were kept that most would go blind the morning that the were forced up and out into the midday sun. Lunifex had communicated with his shamans and had shown them a way to end the tribe of Ahrin without ever having to fight another battle. The prisoners were tied to poles in the ground, arranged in a massive circle within a high clearing. One hundred men, women and children were tied up to those poles with heads forced back, forced to stare at the sun that they had so long been denied. The tribe of Lunifex lay in the middle of the circle, consumed by root wine, all were naked, all of them a mass of writhing bodies caught up in the animalistic orgy that was commanded by them of their demon god. The shamans wore ceremonial robes, made from the pelts of the various beasts that wandered through their territory. The higher ranking shamans were marked by their strange leather garments that were made from their many human victims. They stood a hundred strong, one shaman holding a jagged stone blade in front of every innocent prisoner. They spoke words in a harsh tongue that sounded like more grunting and groaning than actual words. It started as a whisper, drowned out by the cries of rapture coming from the center of the clearing, and slowly turned into a deafening sound. The innocents that were tied up cried and begged for their lives, but their pleas and screams were drowned out by the sound of sexual ecstasy intermingled with that horrible language. Just as the crescendo reached a fever pitch, the sun began to disappear in the sky, almost as if Lunifex himself had reached out his hand to snuff the bright annoyance. As all fell dark it also went silent, the only sound heard in the darkness was that of a hundred blades swinging down as one.

The remaining tribe of Ahrin noticed the sun darken that day, but most thought it a simple error in their astronomical calculations and believed it to be a simple eclipse. That night they slep peaceful, not a single one of them expecting the horror that would befall them the following night.

The next night, as soon as the sun had set, the shamans of Lunifex crawled from the mountains. The hundred of them were completely naked and covered in dry blood, so that the night seemed fo swallow them, and unless you were to stand directly next to one of them, you would never see them in the darkness of the night. Each carried two large wooden buckets with handles that were made up of their victims hair. Fifty walked right around the settlement, fifty around the left, meeting back where they started and leaving behind them a giant circle composed of the lives of a hundred innocents blood. Then a single shaman, the tallest and oldest of them, walked, with arms spread, down the road that lead to the center of the community. While he walked he chanted the language his demonic lord had taught him and his skin slowly began to swell, so that by the time he reached the first watch tower, he looked purple and horribly bruised. The guard saw him, but no cries of warning could save the doomed people now. The shaman heard the guard’s scream and immediately burst into a run, screaming the demonic language louder and faster. He continued to swell, yet despite his now awkward looking form, he moved with the speed of a beast, right into the heart of the town. Right into the heart of the crimson circle. When he finally reached the center of the circle he screamed the final word of the borrowed ritual and then exploded into a burst of blood, meat and bone. The tribe of Ahrin had heard the cries and most had watched in horror as Lunifex’s shaman exploded. Some were close enough that they were covered in the wicked man’s blood, they would be the first to change.

It started in their eyes, a blankness that seemed to snuff out any intelligent thought, then crawled it’s way to their hearts. They attacked the person standing next to them, biting and clawing like animals, the ones who turned first were lucky. Spread by blood and spit, the madness claimed everyone in the tribe and for two months they raped and murdered and even ate each other, till only one remained. A man once called Dian, which meant “beloved son”, woke up after two months of sleep and beheld what had befallen his people. The streets were stained red from blood and parts of bodies and bones lay all around him, his eyes overflowing with tears he looked to the sky and begged Ahrin to allow him to awake, for surely this must all be a nightmare. When no answer was given, he moved his hand slowly to the ground and gripped the handle of a curious stone blade. He wondered over it only briefly, before burying it hilt deep into his broken heart.

This is how the tribe of Lunifex were able to lay claim to the mountains as well as the valley below. They were given only one commandment from their demonic Lord, they must kill one man, one woman and one child on the anniversary of that night. They must be stretched with heads pulled back, and they must be bled out in the very spot where the old shaman had burst. This must happen every year or else they would see the coming of an ancient enemy, that would destroy each and every one of them. So as the years passed the sacrifices continued, the blood of thousands drenching the very ground, where the Woman in Grey would eventually build a grey stone well.

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Posted by on April 25, 2015 in Small Tales


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The Tale of The Well

I love this world. It’s the only place that’s truly mine alone. As the fingers click and clack the keyboard and the wandering thoughts get pinned down beneath them in return breathing life into this void.

The sky above is pitch black as the clouds of war and dirty rain keep the night sky locked tightly behind them. The village is lit by only four torches this particular night since the rain had long ago stolen the life from the others. Two torches lit on the gate along the north wall and two torches at the one on the east, these were also the only way in or out of this little hamlet and were guarded every night by two men at each, who seemed to burn inside with more heat than the torches by the look in their eyes.

If you were able to find your way safely to the middle of this town, then you might find a most peculiar well. This well might be made from some unrecognizable stone that upon further inspection might be revealed to not even be of this particular region. In fact if you were to patiently and carefully sift through the sands of history, you may just grasp the truth of this, strange and cold, grey stone that has been carved flawlessly to construct the well at the center of this town.

You might see a woman with a blade in hand standing atop a barren mountain in an even more desolate land. You might see her wild hair tangled to the point where it appears as snakes made of the ashes left by yesterday’s fires. You might hear her speak in a tongue that offends the ears and very senses in equal measure and that remains hidden in it’s obscurity. You may at some point even see her gesture to a large piece of canvas covering a shaking form. If you were able to continue to watch then you might just see her pull back the canvas to reveal a massive chunk of strange grey stone, topped with the trembling form of a much younger and prettier girl. You might see the young woman’s eyes chained by fear and you might hear her muffled cries attempt their escape from behind the gag tied around her mouth. You might possibly at this moment watch as the old woman stretches her knife high into the sky above the poor girl, and if you were able to truly listen, you might decipher the words she screamed right before plunging the blade into the poor girls heart. “An innocent heart may beat for truth, but the bud of eternity hides behind the innocent blood”.

Were you able to see it? The well at the center of this small and secluded town? Were you able to see how white it appears on this most darkest of nights. Almost like the stone was glowing from somewhere within it’s cold grey exterior. Did you wonder about the inscription engraved upon it’s front? Who could blame you, for without the insight of the past then this simple phrase would have been as a riddle to the world till the end of time and may even have been misconstrued as divine. “Blood of thine, from water to wine”.

So why, you may ask, is this well so important? For that question to be answered properly then two tales must be heard and understood in their entirety. The first is the story of the Woman in Grey and how she came to grasp a secret nature hidden within the very weave of existence. The second is the tale of the founding of a town called Raven Hills and of the demonic curse that twisted and slowly corrupted the hearts of any who dared call it’s streets home. All except one. But that comes much later.

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Posted by on April 18, 2015 in Small Tales


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No Matter

               Tendons and wires composed of broken inhibitions, struggle to hold the head aloft. The stomach threatens rebellion as will alone keeps the stomach spasms from inciting the riot. The pain has become as familiar as that little voice that never learned to leave. Whispers of frail mortal mockery leave a festering sting that only deepens as the coffin closes on yet another precious life. It breaks like waves upon a stubborn rock wall, patiently waiting for the stone to weaken, crack and break. Liquid flows like death across the path ahead, all the while the shores behind grow pale and dark in their passing. It’s something inescapable. It’s something that hides behind smiling eyes and molten anger. A measure of intelligence and understanding. Fade from memory much like the calloused hands behind monolithic stone. Immortality only gained as a questionable guess.

               Imagine a guess extended the length of time. Imperfections and insecurities stripped bare like meat from bone. A floating intuition left burning in the darkened sky, casting hope to weary hearts and tear burned eyes. Felt like a secondary heart beat that flees through the eyes once it’s companion falls. It’s something hidden there. Just behind the eyes. Imagine a guess extended beyond eternity.

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Posted by on February 14, 2015 in Paradise Drift


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Bipolar Mine Trap

The kitchen cabinet opens like the curtains on a disgusting play, and inside she is chained up much the same way a rabid dog would be, sitting on her knees with a face covered in running mascara and food. Her moans are pitiful and haunting all at the same time. He closes the cabinet door with tears streaming down his face and turns and walks from the ragged house in the middle of the crooked wood, leaving behind the only thing he never wished to see.

The pistol feels cool and comfortable in the palm of his hand, almost as if it was invented and manufactured for this very purpose. He inhales softly and remembers the cold stone catacombs where he left his childhood wonder entombed. Chemical dreams and restless wandering took over the sandbox and toy soldiers that used to be enough. Medicated and halfway through the point of no return he realizes that he long ago forgot that magic was real and ghosts could kill. His temples are throbbing along to the beat of his weary heart as he places the cold steel against his forehead. The gun clicks upon an empty chamber and he surrenders to the fact that even this he can’t help but screw up.

The faces of long forgotten acquaintances stand in a row on either side of the pathway he finds himself walking down. They smile and greet him with as much empathy and excitement as a porn star would muster in an actual Hollywood production. He can feel the fakeness along with the anger as he finds the brick door and pushes it open slowly. Inside he sees a room adorned with crimson curtains around bricked up windows and a simple bed covered in blood splattered white sheets. Laying in the middle of it so still and gruesome is the one thing that finally holds some kind of emotion for him in this strange land. Her hair is black as the darkest night and her skin as pale as January snow. He moves next to the bed and presses his finger into her wrist. The pulse is faint but clearly there for one such as him to find. He lifts the limp woman into his arms and turns to the door only to find it gone. She is placed lovingly and oh so carefully back onto the bed where he found her and then he frantically searches the four brick walls for a way out. The bricks are as solid as the mortar used to hold them in place, still he punches and slams his body against them until blood coats his hands and bruises decorate his shoulders. Finally he moves back to the bed and the woman so still upon it. He tries to find a pulse, but he already knows there will be none.

Once the tears finally run dry and he is able to pull his face from hers, he turns and sees the doorknob that was not available to him when he so frantically and fanatically had searched for it. It was not available while it would have mattered. Once again he scoops her into his arms, only this time she feels so much heavier and also unbelievably cold. The door opens, and he sees a vast green meadow, stretching on for as far as his eyes can see. A concrete path mars the landscape and seems ridiculously out of place among the shin high grass and wildflowers sprinkled throughout. He follows it for what seems an eternity, with the corpse of the woman he never knew tucked lovingly against his chest, until off in the distance he makes out the faint shape of a tree. It grows as he closes the gap and he sees that the path will end at its base. He hits his knees when finally he reaches the end of the path and sits his precious cargo against the massive trunk. The tree seems to come alive in that moment and opens up to pull the cold corpse into itself. Where the woman once sat, only moments before, there is only bark. He rubs his hand lovingly against it and turns back to the path behind him. His footsteps are heavy and his hands shaky, and all the while he fights the urge to look back.


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Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Paradise Drift


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The light wind sheds sweet air through the tent as the chilly air numbs the nose. The fire that appeared dead just minutes before bursts into life cascading warmth into the morning.

The demon dressed in gray wades through the open water trailing crimson in his malicious wake. A small smile is curling its way onto his bone white face, almost as if the whole world shall soon be his.

The snake had struck from nowhere entirely too fast. The venom had already eaten away most of his ankle when his internal organs began to fail. Staring out into the vast expanse of sand before him, his crawling ceased as he surrendered to his back. The stars greet his eyes and infinity peels back her eyelids to accept him into her bosom.

A congregation dressed in black and grey gathers at the shore. The small urn is passed amongst those with the wettest eyes. A man with an important looking hat whispers a few words into the heavy wind and sends the ashes of yesterday into tomorrows waters.


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Posted by on September 13, 2014 in Burned.


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