Sebamose found it rather strange how the priest of Weres yelled obscenities at the death of the Nomarch. It wasn’t so much that the priest lost a human being; despite a hard life, empathy was not a foreign concept to him, he just found it annoying. No, it was the priest’s behavior that threw him off-guard. Priests, after all, were men of dignity, men who stood vigilant at every shrine and temple to serve as beacons of light—when they weren’t sneaking away little offerings that were meant for the gods themselves. That was the one thing that even a finder like Sebamose knew; it was like an un-secret secret, the one thing that cracked the façade of perfection that the priest tried so hard (or at least, pretended to try) to maintain. It was also one of the few things that made them more relatable, more human, if you thought dishonesty and hypocrisy were charming little quirks that is.
A short Story: Winston Thatcher and the Rod of Ragnarok
I know for a fact that I have yet to complete the sixth chapter of the obviously internationally popular saga Cities of Eternal Rain, so I thought perhaps I’ll slake my obvious horde of a reading audience’s thirst for prose penned by my hand with this short story.
The premise of the story was based on a writing contest that was about what exactly a character would do if he had but two minutes until the end of the world. Most wrote about some emotional drama between family members, or perhaps about the main character in question coming to terms with his inevitable demise. I didn’t write any of that madness. No sir, I chose a different path. Curiously, I didn’t win. It couldn’t possibly be that I wasn’t what you would call a stellar writer was it? Poppycock! It was obviously rigged by the Illuminati.
Continue reading “A short Story: Winston Thatcher and the Rod of Ragnarok”
Art Attack 2: A (Nearly) Dead Idea
Another College Story! Here goes…
In my sophomore year of College, during the spring semester, I found myself nearly being burnt out, or somehow just plain falling apart (A feeling that has yet to fully go away). It was during that time that I figured that I needed to do something.
So I wrote a film script. I wanted to capture the feeling of swashbuckling adventure, and to do it in a crazy awesome manner. So I wrote a story involving a space pirate, trying to marry the baroque period and the nature of space (In other words, something like Treasure Planet, with some modicum of logic in the ship design, complete with an original story).
Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 5
Chapter 5:
Leaving the Pharaonic palace was a simple matter for the two, as it only involved a brisk walk through the palace’s side gate. To Sebamose, however, the cool, dry breeze that enveloped the palace that day reflected the inward calm and relief that he felt being liberated from the palace prison. It almost allowed him the luxury of forgetting his badly damaged wounds—that is until his nostrils picked up a familiar but unsavory scent. “What’s this?” Sebamose, “even the musty smell of the commoner’s den that seemed to have wafted itself up here.” That’s when his good will about living started to taper off. “Damn, I forgot,” he thought some more, “Those stupid refugees are there, invading my space. And now I have deal with this stupid priest with them!”
“Coming, Finder?” Djed cried out, as if on cue, startling Sebamose.
Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 4
Chapter 4:
In a dark cell was where Sebamose ended up, after a generous beating to his sides. Only when he was chained up to the wall in his cell, did he allow himself the luxury of coughing up what blood had accrued up his esophagus. He wasn’t too concerned about his health, however; for all he knew, he was as good as dead. All he could do now was hope that Pharaoh was going to be merciful enough to give him quick death, as improbable as it might be. He heard many a horrible rumor of what happens when someone gets too brave and becomes an uninvited guest in pharaoh’s property, palace or not.
The most common punishment was almost always impalement. It was little more than a fancy term for taking a criminal and throwing him upon a well-sharpened stick, as if one were attempting to prepare a pig for roasting. While this was the written prescription of dealing with such a problem, ultimately, it was the decision of Pharaoh that commanded life or death. To rely on Pharaoh’s mercy, however, is to rely on a crocodile’s hospitality; both garnered the same chance of survival.
Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 3
Chapter 3:
The majority of the court was trailing behind pharaoh, who in turn was lumbering, or rather limping away at the heels of the Nomarch. Sebamose stayed until the last of the court gathered and followed. There, he join the entourage determined to follow pharaoh and the Nomarch into seeing the great beauty that was the eastern horizon of the city soon to be transformed. At the first chance, he ducked into a hallway, and trailed off to find the Royal Temple of Udjat, armed only with a few tools, and what little memory of the palace layout that the Nomarch’s scribes gave him.
Treading lightly, Sebamose walked as if he was on a thin sheet of papyrus; one false move could break his silent stride. The worst part about skulking through the halls of the palace is that there are virtually no places to rest or regain some sanity from the deep peering feeling that after a few moments, you will be caught. Physically, you had to move like a small housecat using a man-sized body. Luckily the palace floor was made of solid sandstone tiles—assuming that the sandstone was properly placed, and would not wiggle unexpectedly.
Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 2
Sebamose left the villa late in the night, where the bright warm yellows of the golden sun was usurped by the cool, serene blues of the white sliver that was the crescent moon in the night sky. Seeing the villa’s garden by night made him wish that he could stay there and take in the scenery once more, perhaps even try to wash his face in what seemed to be quite a clean source of water. “I’ve got to move on,” Sebamose thought, “Getting sentimental about things isn’t my style, and getting attached is just going to slow me down.” As far as he was concerned, a finder like him should only be concerned about three things: money, a good swig of wine, and above all his own survival at any cost.
With all this in mind, he ran off back to the commoner’s dens where the Clueless Stork was. He went a few blocks from the tavern to where his house was.
Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 1
Sebamose sat on the hard ground, drinking his cheap, bitter wine, drowning amidst the unusually deafening noise of the tavern he was in. Officially, it was known as the Delighted Ibis. The majority of the tavern’s clientele, however, could not even read the “lowerglyphs” on the sign (at least that’s what the scribes called the written vulgar tongue), they gave it the nickname of the Clueless Stork. It was then that the name stuck…much to the barkeep’s chagrin.
It wasn’t even the tavern’s usual brand of banter that consisted of one part humorous comradery, one part problem sharing, and nine parts bragging about some overrated feat of stupidity that nine times out of ten, resulted in a barfight. Continue reading “Cities of Eternal Rain: Chapter 1”