Mitchell Lecoultre's Blog - Posts Tagged "epic-fantasy"
What Inspires Us
Recently, I was asked to do a review, and though I was sorely tempted to simply ‘phone’ it in and write your formulaic, “This is awesome!” or “It changed my life!” something inside of me—call it the writer in me—demanded more, demanded a deeper dive. Why I couldn’t just keep it simple lies within my approach to things like reviews. I always start with asking, “How does this make me feel?” or “How does this inspire me?” Rather simple, but also profound, questions that can lead you to a simple two sentence response or in this case, several paragraphs. So, as I started cooking up my critique of a little thing called Scarlet Blaze Cheer (SBC), I found myself mulling over one of those two questions, “How does this inspire me?”
That question is one that can take our whole lives to answer. A profound sense of purpose is a driving factor for so many, and a force that helps us push on, even when the ‘going gets tough.’ For me, that question has become somewhat easy as of late. I mean you are talking to a guy who literally wrote a book—hopefully a whole trilogy soon—of novels inspired by his daughters. Those little works of art have my eldest daughter playing as a rough and tough warrior of the wilds, and that character was so easy to write. After all, it’s a breeze when your muse lives within your home, showing you little bits of their character with everyday actions. How they care for their sisters, how they smile and laugh at your stupid dad jokes, how they obsess over some oddly named K-Pop band called ‘Stray Kids,’ and most of all how they grow into a woman.
Yes, I have found my main inspiration, but I think my daughter is finding something that inspires her, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! Yeah, through our lives we may find many, MANY, things that inspire us, but—and I don’t want to sound to dramatic—I think she, and by proxy me, have found one of those truly inspirational things. One of those rare moments that gives you goose bumps; makes you feel like you belong—like you’re part of something more. That thing is SBC.
It’s not just a cheer team, or even a cheer squad; it’s a movement. A force to be reckoned with that will make you realize what truly matters; the next generation. At its core is the fabulous coach, Sara Moore, who is not only a dynamo of discipline but also a person that truly—and I mean TRULY believes in these athletes. At Sara’s side is her trusty strength and conditioning coach, Amy Walker, who helps round out the gaps in physicality. Together, I have watched these two take the timidity of my rather tall daughter and show her how to shine. They have pushed her to unlock the ability she has hidden within and go on to be one heck-of-a backspot. Truly, I haven’t seen my daughter more excited about a thing—ever! She loves SBC and looks forward to achieving more every practice; every event; every competition. I can see it written in her eyes; she has a passion, a driving force.
Of course, my daughter isn’t the only member of SBC, and I have watched—over the last season—the growth of many young athletes. I have watched them go on their own little journeys as they find what it means to be themselves. Just like my daughter, I think they have found that thing—that little spark—that drives us ever onwards. Watching all these young athletes so worked up over something gets me all in the feels. I mean, if you came to one of their cheer competitions you might have seen a crazy looking guy with half his face painted scarlet and the other half gold. Yeah, that was me, and yes that was because I was inspired by their greatness.
So, you might be asking, what makes SBC so unique? Maybe it’s the mascot, the phoenix, that ancient mythological beast that is a theme passed down from culture to culture, generation to generation. A simple concept, rise and rise again. Never give up in the face of adversity; never quit building yourself up even when it all burns down around you. Rise like the indomitable phoenix, and you will never be defeated. Or, maybe it’s the parents who want the best for their children. Who show up day-in-and-day-out to cheer on the cheerleaders. Or, maybe its just the athletes who make up this wonderful little thing called SBC. But, I think, and those who know might agree, it’s a combination of all those things.
Together that amalgamation of traits makes a little piece of inspiration here on this Earth. The thing that makes me want to keep on pushing forward, to keep on building myself up. Together SBC has become a powerhouse of a team, and like the phoenix they always rise to the occasion. So, when I ask myself, “What inspires me?” It’s simple, “Scarlet Blaze Cheer.”
That question is one that can take our whole lives to answer. A profound sense of purpose is a driving factor for so many, and a force that helps us push on, even when the ‘going gets tough.’ For me, that question has become somewhat easy as of late. I mean you are talking to a guy who literally wrote a book—hopefully a whole trilogy soon—of novels inspired by his daughters. Those little works of art have my eldest daughter playing as a rough and tough warrior of the wilds, and that character was so easy to write. After all, it’s a breeze when your muse lives within your home, showing you little bits of their character with everyday actions. How they care for their sisters, how they smile and laugh at your stupid dad jokes, how they obsess over some oddly named K-Pop band called ‘Stray Kids,’ and most of all how they grow into a woman.
Yes, I have found my main inspiration, but I think my daughter is finding something that inspires her, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! Yeah, through our lives we may find many, MANY, things that inspire us, but—and I don’t want to sound to dramatic—I think she, and by proxy me, have found one of those truly inspirational things. One of those rare moments that gives you goose bumps; makes you feel like you belong—like you’re part of something more. That thing is SBC.
It’s not just a cheer team, or even a cheer squad; it’s a movement. A force to be reckoned with that will make you realize what truly matters; the next generation. At its core is the fabulous coach, Sara Moore, who is not only a dynamo of discipline but also a person that truly—and I mean TRULY believes in these athletes. At Sara’s side is her trusty strength and conditioning coach, Amy Walker, who helps round out the gaps in physicality. Together, I have watched these two take the timidity of my rather tall daughter and show her how to shine. They have pushed her to unlock the ability she has hidden within and go on to be one heck-of-a backspot. Truly, I haven’t seen my daughter more excited about a thing—ever! She loves SBC and looks forward to achieving more every practice; every event; every competition. I can see it written in her eyes; she has a passion, a driving force.
Of course, my daughter isn’t the only member of SBC, and I have watched—over the last season—the growth of many young athletes. I have watched them go on their own little journeys as they find what it means to be themselves. Just like my daughter, I think they have found that thing—that little spark—that drives us ever onwards. Watching all these young athletes so worked up over something gets me all in the feels. I mean, if you came to one of their cheer competitions you might have seen a crazy looking guy with half his face painted scarlet and the other half gold. Yeah, that was me, and yes that was because I was inspired by their greatness.
So, you might be asking, what makes SBC so unique? Maybe it’s the mascot, the phoenix, that ancient mythological beast that is a theme passed down from culture to culture, generation to generation. A simple concept, rise and rise again. Never give up in the face of adversity; never quit building yourself up even when it all burns down around you. Rise like the indomitable phoenix, and you will never be defeated. Or, maybe it’s the parents who want the best for their children. Who show up day-in-and-day-out to cheer on the cheerleaders. Or, maybe its just the athletes who make up this wonderful little thing called SBC. But, I think, and those who know might agree, it’s a combination of all those things.
Together that amalgamation of traits makes a little piece of inspiration here on this Earth. The thing that makes me want to keep on pushing forward, to keep on building myself up. Together SBC has become a powerhouse of a team, and like the phoenix they always rise to the occasion. So, when I ask myself, “What inspires me?” It’s simple, “Scarlet Blaze Cheer.”
Anxiety of Ambition
Anxiety of Ambition
Another Monday rolls around, and I find myself back in the ‘rat race’ of life. Driving down the highway—sun in my eyes—only to ponder the vagaries of existence. What does it all mean? Why am I doing this? And most importantly, Is it worth it? The answer to these questions isn’t simple, nor do I think it’s meant to be. It’s a challenge that some people spend their whole lives struggling with. I am not here to tell you that I have found out the secret, and I am not here to tell you my ‘Twenty-Six-Step Process to Success.’ No, I am just here to tell you about a feeling I had today, a thought. Hopefully you can relate, and hopefully it helps you stay grounded on this giant ball of spinning rock we all call home.
On February 4th of 2024, I made a decision that would change my life for the better. On the weekend-eve of my daughter’s ninth birthday, I was struggling with a demon that had very nearly taken total control of me. My possession was so progressed that I did not know a way to live without it, but looking upon my child as they prepared to celebrate another year of life, I finally found the spark—the hope—to break free. So, I put down my cans of chewing tobacco and my endless thirst for that amber liquid known as beer, and I started a new journey—sobriety.
I can’t say it has been easy. No, quite the opposite in fact. You see when you develop an addiction to something, especially when you convince yourself it’s part of your personality, it becomes immensely difficult to put it down. But, no matter how many times it takes; no matter how many ‘quits’ you need to try, never give up! Eventually, like me, you will find the ‘quit that stuck.’ When you do, you will be able to experience the world in ALL its glory once again. All of its raw unadulterated emotion, pure and unfiltered. Love, happiness, sadness, fear, and the crux of this little post, anxiety.
Sure, you might be thinking, But I don’t want to experience anxiety or fear. Well, let me tell you something, try numbing yourself to those emotions through the ample use of alcohol or any intoxicant. Try hiding behind the crutch of mind-altering chemicals. Then…then you will realize why terrible emotions like fear, anxiety, anger, etc are a necessity. Without fear we could all end up like that one teenage boy with a Subaru WRX that thinks they are in Too Fast Too Furious. Without anger we risk being rolled over and abused, never having stood up for ourselves. Without anxiety we lose a very crucial part of ourselves, ambition.
That little jittery emotion that bounces around in your chest as you prepare for the big speech. That’s our guy, anxiety! The freaking nightmare butterfly that rips at your insides with blades that must be made of steel? That’s him. That moment when you think you might need to suddenly go #2 right before a big event. You guessed it!
So, why are they there and why can’t they just let us stay calm? It’s simple, you need that stress to ensure you do a good job, that you push yourself to the limit for the important stuff, and to make sure that you get the details right. Oh, like—I don’t know, not forgetting the name of the bride or something in the middle of the speech and accidentally calling her Ann when the groom is marrying an Alice or something. Anxiety will make damn sure you don’t do that! Let me be clear, this is not something I did, but like any sane person I have a fear of public speaking and that was a very easy nightmare scenario to concoct.
Of course, too much anxiety can backfire, and in a very real instance that I did experience, my nerves betrayed me. In the middle of presenting a scientific poster for a fellowship in college, I completely blanked on my introduction. Although I stumbled through it with a face as red as a beet, it was an experience that did not do me any favors; at least career-wise. I am sure you could say I learned a lesson or something there, but let’s be honest it sucked, and it was anxiety’s fault. Yet, when I think back on that moment, it might be because I didn’t know how to handle anxiety. I was drinking during that time (I was in college) but seeing as how I had some morals left, I didn’t try and take the ‘take the edge off’ with some James Bond level concealed flask. No, I tried to do it raw, and as an amateur at dealing with my emotions, I failed.
But let me tell you, that anxiety never went away. That emotion, no matter how hard I tried to smother it under the warm fuzzy of alcohol’s embrace, stayed inside. Now that I am well clear of the illusion of booze, I realize that anxiety, fear, anger, sadness—they are all still there. Like that one annoying friend that you know is right and won’t just freaking agree with you. They actually have your best interests at heart when they do that, but damn is it annoying.
Now I am learning how to use those little unsung heroes of the emotional world, learning how their agitating little tools can help you succeed. For example, I wrote a book! Technically I have written two but only one of those is publicly available, Shards of Ember. Insert shameless self-plug where I tell you it’s a freaking awesome Adult High Fantasy Adventure for fans of realistic fantasy grounded in the classics and has a sequel that is currently being edited. Whew! Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Anyways, I never would have done it as a drunk. I would not have finished without the companionship of those darker, scarier emotions.
Without fear I would not have been ready for the harsher critiques that are necessary for me to grow as a writer. I also risked putting out work that threatened to stain my future writing career.
Without anger I would not have embraced what I know I’m capable of; instead, letting myself slide into oblivion.
Without sadness I would not have started the sobriety journey, for without ever knowing defeat one will never—truly—strive for victory.
Without anxiety, I would not have made sure that all the little details, all the little necessities of self-publishing a book were met. And there are a LOT of details. An ocean of minutiae that will scare off the unprepared. Without that edge of unfiltered anxiety I would have faltered, I would have smothered ambition’s boon and wondered why no one even bothered to read the dang thing. Without anxiety, I would not have even tried to realize my ambitions, and that…that’s not a life you want to live. I implore you, find yourself, get out from whatever snare that binds you, and experience life in all its raw joy-filled, lovestruck, delicious, terrifying, rage-inducing, dreary, and anxiety filled glory!
Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day wherever you are!
Feel free to check me out on:
FB: Mitchell Lecoultre Weaver of Stories
Instagram @mitchell_lecoultre
Also check out Shards of Ember on the Amazon bookstore and look forward to a sequel to that book in the very near future!
Another Monday rolls around, and I find myself back in the ‘rat race’ of life. Driving down the highway—sun in my eyes—only to ponder the vagaries of existence. What does it all mean? Why am I doing this? And most importantly, Is it worth it? The answer to these questions isn’t simple, nor do I think it’s meant to be. It’s a challenge that some people spend their whole lives struggling with. I am not here to tell you that I have found out the secret, and I am not here to tell you my ‘Twenty-Six-Step Process to Success.’ No, I am just here to tell you about a feeling I had today, a thought. Hopefully you can relate, and hopefully it helps you stay grounded on this giant ball of spinning rock we all call home.
On February 4th of 2024, I made a decision that would change my life for the better. On the weekend-eve of my daughter’s ninth birthday, I was struggling with a demon that had very nearly taken total control of me. My possession was so progressed that I did not know a way to live without it, but looking upon my child as they prepared to celebrate another year of life, I finally found the spark—the hope—to break free. So, I put down my cans of chewing tobacco and my endless thirst for that amber liquid known as beer, and I started a new journey—sobriety.
I can’t say it has been easy. No, quite the opposite in fact. You see when you develop an addiction to something, especially when you convince yourself it’s part of your personality, it becomes immensely difficult to put it down. But, no matter how many times it takes; no matter how many ‘quits’ you need to try, never give up! Eventually, like me, you will find the ‘quit that stuck.’ When you do, you will be able to experience the world in ALL its glory once again. All of its raw unadulterated emotion, pure and unfiltered. Love, happiness, sadness, fear, and the crux of this little post, anxiety.
Sure, you might be thinking, But I don’t want to experience anxiety or fear. Well, let me tell you something, try numbing yourself to those emotions through the ample use of alcohol or any intoxicant. Try hiding behind the crutch of mind-altering chemicals. Then…then you will realize why terrible emotions like fear, anxiety, anger, etc are a necessity. Without fear we could all end up like that one teenage boy with a Subaru WRX that thinks they are in Too Fast Too Furious. Without anger we risk being rolled over and abused, never having stood up for ourselves. Without anxiety we lose a very crucial part of ourselves, ambition.
That little jittery emotion that bounces around in your chest as you prepare for the big speech. That’s our guy, anxiety! The freaking nightmare butterfly that rips at your insides with blades that must be made of steel? That’s him. That moment when you think you might need to suddenly go #2 right before a big event. You guessed it!
So, why are they there and why can’t they just let us stay calm? It’s simple, you need that stress to ensure you do a good job, that you push yourself to the limit for the important stuff, and to make sure that you get the details right. Oh, like—I don’t know, not forgetting the name of the bride or something in the middle of the speech and accidentally calling her Ann when the groom is marrying an Alice or something. Anxiety will make damn sure you don’t do that! Let me be clear, this is not something I did, but like any sane person I have a fear of public speaking and that was a very easy nightmare scenario to concoct.
Of course, too much anxiety can backfire, and in a very real instance that I did experience, my nerves betrayed me. In the middle of presenting a scientific poster for a fellowship in college, I completely blanked on my introduction. Although I stumbled through it with a face as red as a beet, it was an experience that did not do me any favors; at least career-wise. I am sure you could say I learned a lesson or something there, but let’s be honest it sucked, and it was anxiety’s fault. Yet, when I think back on that moment, it might be because I didn’t know how to handle anxiety. I was drinking during that time (I was in college) but seeing as how I had some morals left, I didn’t try and take the ‘take the edge off’ with some James Bond level concealed flask. No, I tried to do it raw, and as an amateur at dealing with my emotions, I failed.
But let me tell you, that anxiety never went away. That emotion, no matter how hard I tried to smother it under the warm fuzzy of alcohol’s embrace, stayed inside. Now that I am well clear of the illusion of booze, I realize that anxiety, fear, anger, sadness—they are all still there. Like that one annoying friend that you know is right and won’t just freaking agree with you. They actually have your best interests at heart when they do that, but damn is it annoying.
Now I am learning how to use those little unsung heroes of the emotional world, learning how their agitating little tools can help you succeed. For example, I wrote a book! Technically I have written two but only one of those is publicly available, Shards of Ember. Insert shameless self-plug where I tell you it’s a freaking awesome Adult High Fantasy Adventure for fans of realistic fantasy grounded in the classics and has a sequel that is currently being edited. Whew! Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Anyways, I never would have done it as a drunk. I would not have finished without the companionship of those darker, scarier emotions.
Without fear I would not have been ready for the harsher critiques that are necessary for me to grow as a writer. I also risked putting out work that threatened to stain my future writing career.
Without anger I would not have embraced what I know I’m capable of; instead, letting myself slide into oblivion.
Without sadness I would not have started the sobriety journey, for without ever knowing defeat one will never—truly—strive for victory.
Without anxiety, I would not have made sure that all the little details, all the little necessities of self-publishing a book were met. And there are a LOT of details. An ocean of minutiae that will scare off the unprepared. Without that edge of unfiltered anxiety I would have faltered, I would have smothered ambition’s boon and wondered why no one even bothered to read the dang thing. Without anxiety, I would not have even tried to realize my ambitions, and that…that’s not a life you want to live. I implore you, find yourself, get out from whatever snare that binds you, and experience life in all its raw joy-filled, lovestruck, delicious, terrifying, rage-inducing, dreary, and anxiety filled glory!
Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day wherever you are!
Feel free to check me out on:
FB: Mitchell Lecoultre Weaver of Stories
Instagram @mitchell_lecoultre
Also check out Shards of Ember on the Amazon bookstore and look forward to a sequel to that book in the very near future!
Dire Portents
This is a fictional short story, designed for entertainment purposes only. Any political, religious, or ideological insights gleaned from this work are just that—fictional. With that being said, enjoy!
Travelling Alchemist Captimeo, Letter to the Alchemical Conclave regarding the dangers of the roads.
To the general assembly of my esteemed alchemists. I come to you now with a warning, an augury of disaster for those of us who still sully themselves with the dirt of the road. Or, if you are like me, yearn for those dirt-filled journeys! After all, there is only one way to get out in the field.
However, this is not the time to ponder over the intricacies of whose alchemical workflow is most efficient. No, I have something more serious to discuss. So, please bear with me, because I am going to write this in such a way that you will take my meaning seriously. Yes, I know I have been called long-winded, repetitive, and even tautological, but what’s the point of learning the beauty of writing if we don’t get to use it?
What’s the point of writing, if I can’t warn others of danger? So, if you can get over my attempts at prose, please harken my words. Within lies a lesson; a warning; a dire portent…
At times I have found myself wondering about what comes next. No, I don’t mean what task or what goal comes next; I mean what comes after this … this existence. Are we some sort of construct of another’s intent, sentenced to an eternity in whatever ‘paradise’ they have designed? Or, are we just lost amalgams of nature, cursed to know of our own fate?
At risk of being considered a heretic by the more zealous of our compatriots, I must mention that I do not deny your right to spirituality. No, in fact at times, I envy it, but please understand that I have been fortunate enough in my choice of employer that my religious scruples have never been an issue. If that ruffles your feathers, well, consider them ruffled. Maybe that will serve to help me by making you pay more attention.
But I digress, even with that damnable curse lingering overhead, I still never believed in a higher power. Never trusted some benevolent ruler to take me body and soul in the next life—whatever that may be. No jeweled paradise awaiting me on the far side. Just the eternity of the void. But that’s only if we behave.
After what I witnessed last night, I fear that, although there may not be a paradise, there might be its antithesis. A pit of perdition; a realm of suffering; a playground for our more malign gods. How come I drew upon this conclusion? Simple! For upon our fair roads last night, I witnessed something that made me wonder if sinister forces lurked on the periphery of mortality. Boogeymen ready to snatch up our soul and feed it to whatever diabolical realm they have cooked up.
That fateful night, I found myself sensing something at the edge of my perception. I quickly stowed away my weekly bounty of goblin’s finger and chamomile and recognized that I had been out far too long. The sun was setting; the light dimmed even more by the trees along the road. Shadows crept out from between the boughs as night approached. I tried to hasten my return journey, but, unfortunately, with a couple of miles ahead of me, it would be long dark before I reached the safety of my homestead.
It was then, as I lengthened my stride—more than I felt comfortable with, that I felt a fear so palpable that I could taste it. Bile and blood mixed with anxiety. I remember nervously glancing about, when it caught my attention. Eyes in the dark; cerulean orbs carved in the same fashion as that temperamental god of the sea, Melleas.
They bobbed up and down; just past the tree line. Falling in and out of existence as they passed bush and branch in their quest to keep up with me. They were close to the ground; like a hound on the hunt, and their loping stride had no issue keeping pace with my ever-quickening gait. That was when the panic set in.
My breath was hard and heavy, and I abandoned all sense of decorum. My legs had started to ache after the first half mile—I am not one to run, so the exercise was much beyond me. Yet, it was in vain, because the blue orbs danced merrily alongside me as if my efforts were only small annoyance. Just inside the trees; just out of reach. The last glimmer of sunlight rippled red across the dirt road. My legs could only sprint so fast.
I lost my bundle of herbs, so carefully plucked and preened upon. I trampled them underfoot as I tried to escape. The goblin’s fingers bursting like a simulacrum of their namesake. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t get away from the forest fast enough. Darkness claimed the land, and I still had a quarter mile to go before I would be in open country. By now, my breath was like that of the mechanical marvels of the dwarves, hissing and clanging—about to explode. Truly, we must introduce an exercise regimen for all novices after this.
That beacon of inefficient breathing lured the creature to me. Its cerulean orbs now just in my imagination, for I dared not turn round to look at them. But, I could hear it now … the faint patter of something slowly gaining upon me, no matter how hard I strained my muscles. Then I was clear; free of the trees; free of the fear.
As soon as I had cleared the forest and gave myself another hundred meters from those damned trees, I stopped to catch my breath. That was when I learned how poor of a choice that was. For when the animal panic faded, and my mind—reborn in logic—took hold once more, I heard it. Someone else’s breath, not the wheezing out-of-shape misery that was mine, but, instead, the slow—animal—inhalations of something massive. Something that needed to fill capacious lungs; yet with a ragged sickness in every breath. I froze in terror, paralyzed as the breathing became rapid … excited … close.
With all the courage I could muster, I forced my protesting neck to turn; to face the fear. My fellow alchemists, I tell you now that what I saw does not belong. It was an ABOMINATION. Legs built like tree trunks held up a massive frame, its construction similar to that of a dog—or a wolf. Fur, coarse and rugged, appeared sickly, like a rotten mat of leaves and fungi. An elongated snout, slathered in saliva, held sharp jagged teeth that defied biology. Eyes … eyes as blue as the sea and as dead as those unfortunate souls who are touched by Mosyneta’s stone when their light has already gone. This … this monstrosity had approached me, and now it was only a few centimeters away.
I prepared for the end, wondering how painful it would be to be eaten alive. Not a fond last thought my friends. Yet, it did not come. Death did not claim me; instead, the beast only stared back. Its breaths now fast, spittle spattering my face with hot—unpleasant—regularity. Then, quite suddenly, it howled to the moon, but not just an animalistic braying. No, this held a name upon its cursed oath. A singular word, that amongst the Keepers, those ancient wardens of the godstones, bears the weight of damnation. In polite company, we may refer to him as The Crimson King. But my animal companion did not call him by that. No, he spoke the god of blood’s true name, Magdris…
With its missive delivered and my heart nearly spent, the canine fiend loped back to the trees. I was left speechless. Why? Why would this creature need to do this? Why would it need to terrify me in such a way without even having the courtesy of ending my suffering?
Well, my esteemed colleagues, I can think of no other explanation than this. I have been marked. I have been told that I am now watched by that cursed god of blood and death. So, please hear my warning. Fear the cerulean orbs in the dark; fear the roads at night, for in the darkness lies your doom. The only question for me is … when will he come—no, when will Magdris come to claim his due?
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this short story, why don’t you leave me a like, or, if you are so inclined subscribe to my newsletter. As an FYI, elements of this story originate from my own series of high fantasy novels entitled, Gods Adrift. If you really liked this story, why don’t you check it out on the Amazon bookstore? You might just find your next fantasy escape!
You can also find me doing a book signing for local authors in Edmond, Oklahoma at a little store called Best of Books on June 7th from 12-2 PM. I would love to see you there!
Travelling Alchemist Captimeo, Letter to the Alchemical Conclave regarding the dangers of the roads.
To the general assembly of my esteemed alchemists. I come to you now with a warning, an augury of disaster for those of us who still sully themselves with the dirt of the road. Or, if you are like me, yearn for those dirt-filled journeys! After all, there is only one way to get out in the field.
However, this is not the time to ponder over the intricacies of whose alchemical workflow is most efficient. No, I have something more serious to discuss. So, please bear with me, because I am going to write this in such a way that you will take my meaning seriously. Yes, I know I have been called long-winded, repetitive, and even tautological, but what’s the point of learning the beauty of writing if we don’t get to use it?
What’s the point of writing, if I can’t warn others of danger? So, if you can get over my attempts at prose, please harken my words. Within lies a lesson; a warning; a dire portent…
At times I have found myself wondering about what comes next. No, I don’t mean what task or what goal comes next; I mean what comes after this … this existence. Are we some sort of construct of another’s intent, sentenced to an eternity in whatever ‘paradise’ they have designed? Or, are we just lost amalgams of nature, cursed to know of our own fate?
At risk of being considered a heretic by the more zealous of our compatriots, I must mention that I do not deny your right to spirituality. No, in fact at times, I envy it, but please understand that I have been fortunate enough in my choice of employer that my religious scruples have never been an issue. If that ruffles your feathers, well, consider them ruffled. Maybe that will serve to help me by making you pay more attention.
But I digress, even with that damnable curse lingering overhead, I still never believed in a higher power. Never trusted some benevolent ruler to take me body and soul in the next life—whatever that may be. No jeweled paradise awaiting me on the far side. Just the eternity of the void. But that’s only if we behave.
After what I witnessed last night, I fear that, although there may not be a paradise, there might be its antithesis. A pit of perdition; a realm of suffering; a playground for our more malign gods. How come I drew upon this conclusion? Simple! For upon our fair roads last night, I witnessed something that made me wonder if sinister forces lurked on the periphery of mortality. Boogeymen ready to snatch up our soul and feed it to whatever diabolical realm they have cooked up.
That fateful night, I found myself sensing something at the edge of my perception. I quickly stowed away my weekly bounty of goblin’s finger and chamomile and recognized that I had been out far too long. The sun was setting; the light dimmed even more by the trees along the road. Shadows crept out from between the boughs as night approached. I tried to hasten my return journey, but, unfortunately, with a couple of miles ahead of me, it would be long dark before I reached the safety of my homestead.
It was then, as I lengthened my stride—more than I felt comfortable with, that I felt a fear so palpable that I could taste it. Bile and blood mixed with anxiety. I remember nervously glancing about, when it caught my attention. Eyes in the dark; cerulean orbs carved in the same fashion as that temperamental god of the sea, Melleas.
They bobbed up and down; just past the tree line. Falling in and out of existence as they passed bush and branch in their quest to keep up with me. They were close to the ground; like a hound on the hunt, and their loping stride had no issue keeping pace with my ever-quickening gait. That was when the panic set in.
My breath was hard and heavy, and I abandoned all sense of decorum. My legs had started to ache after the first half mile—I am not one to run, so the exercise was much beyond me. Yet, it was in vain, because the blue orbs danced merrily alongside me as if my efforts were only small annoyance. Just inside the trees; just out of reach. The last glimmer of sunlight rippled red across the dirt road. My legs could only sprint so fast.
I lost my bundle of herbs, so carefully plucked and preened upon. I trampled them underfoot as I tried to escape. The goblin’s fingers bursting like a simulacrum of their namesake. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t get away from the forest fast enough. Darkness claimed the land, and I still had a quarter mile to go before I would be in open country. By now, my breath was like that of the mechanical marvels of the dwarves, hissing and clanging—about to explode. Truly, we must introduce an exercise regimen for all novices after this.
That beacon of inefficient breathing lured the creature to me. Its cerulean orbs now just in my imagination, for I dared not turn round to look at them. But, I could hear it now … the faint patter of something slowly gaining upon me, no matter how hard I strained my muscles. Then I was clear; free of the trees; free of the fear.
As soon as I had cleared the forest and gave myself another hundred meters from those damned trees, I stopped to catch my breath. That was when I learned how poor of a choice that was. For when the animal panic faded, and my mind—reborn in logic—took hold once more, I heard it. Someone else’s breath, not the wheezing out-of-shape misery that was mine, but, instead, the slow—animal—inhalations of something massive. Something that needed to fill capacious lungs; yet with a ragged sickness in every breath. I froze in terror, paralyzed as the breathing became rapid … excited … close.
With all the courage I could muster, I forced my protesting neck to turn; to face the fear. My fellow alchemists, I tell you now that what I saw does not belong. It was an ABOMINATION. Legs built like tree trunks held up a massive frame, its construction similar to that of a dog—or a wolf. Fur, coarse and rugged, appeared sickly, like a rotten mat of leaves and fungi. An elongated snout, slathered in saliva, held sharp jagged teeth that defied biology. Eyes … eyes as blue as the sea and as dead as those unfortunate souls who are touched by Mosyneta’s stone when their light has already gone. This … this monstrosity had approached me, and now it was only a few centimeters away.
I prepared for the end, wondering how painful it would be to be eaten alive. Not a fond last thought my friends. Yet, it did not come. Death did not claim me; instead, the beast only stared back. Its breaths now fast, spittle spattering my face with hot—unpleasant—regularity. Then, quite suddenly, it howled to the moon, but not just an animalistic braying. No, this held a name upon its cursed oath. A singular word, that amongst the Keepers, those ancient wardens of the godstones, bears the weight of damnation. In polite company, we may refer to him as The Crimson King. But my animal companion did not call him by that. No, he spoke the god of blood’s true name, Magdris…
With its missive delivered and my heart nearly spent, the canine fiend loped back to the trees. I was left speechless. Why? Why would this creature need to do this? Why would it need to terrify me in such a way without even having the courtesy of ending my suffering?
Well, my esteemed colleagues, I can think of no other explanation than this. I have been marked. I have been told that I am now watched by that cursed god of blood and death. So, please hear my warning. Fear the cerulean orbs in the dark; fear the roads at night, for in the darkness lies your doom. The only question for me is … when will he come—no, when will Magdris come to claim his due?
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this short story, why don’t you leave me a like, or, if you are so inclined subscribe to my newsletter. As an FYI, elements of this story originate from my own series of high fantasy novels entitled, Gods Adrift. If you really liked this story, why don’t you check it out on the Amazon bookstore? You might just find your next fantasy escape!
You can also find me doing a book signing for local authors in Edmond, Oklahoma at a little store called Best of Books on June 7th from 12-2 PM. I would love to see you there!
