J.R. Swiger's Blog

The howls were closing at an alarming rate. Reist cast a wary glance over his shoulder.  At the top of the ridge they sat waiting as if time had lost its meaning.  Glowing rows of glittering eyes spoke of the nine hells worth of torture they would inflict when their jaws finally found his flesh. The pack’s leader rose from it’s laurels stampeding down the slope with a great beating of paws, clouds of dust wafted skyward as the pack followed.

Reist ran. His feet pounding the dead earth under heel as he pushed his body through the paces not allowing cramping muscles to slow him. He hadn’t stopped for nearly an hour up until risking a peek behind. Now a moments respite would cost him his life.  Sentimental fingers stroked the curve of the long bow’s smooth bone and lacquered surface, falling to feathers of arrows resting high in his quiver. It was the last touch one last embrace.  An old set of friends, lovers that would spill blood before they fell at his side. His own death sang in his ears to the rhythmic war drumming of his heart . It was time to make a stand, his last.

He wheeled around two arrows drawn tight against the bow string. He waited, waited both to deliver and receive death. At the first glimmering of golden eyes crowning the slope he loosed both. Engulfing spectral flames streaked the four hundred paces setting the darkness ablaze. Howls of pain cut the air sharper and surer than any arrow’s flight. The mournful call of the fallens’ brethren answered the dead and dying wailing vengeance. Reist sighted down the arrow’s shaft the bow again sang death with the twang of the release. Eleven of the demonic wolf pack remained and he was down to his last arrow. Relaxing his eyes Reist controlled his breathing, letting out a long drawn out breath as he dropped to his knee drawing the arrow back. The packs leader bounded ahead of the rest it’s path serpentine in movement making it all the harder to hit. The last arrow left his fingertips dividing the darkness in a blinding bolt It pierced the devil dogs side slanting through its chest as it landed claiming three others in the ensuing inferno.

The well-oiled blade slid like butter free from the scabbard, he drew the long sword from over his shoulder. His war cry echoed as he sprinted toward nine faces of death. He would die well, he would die with honor. Gaping jaws clapped at his face captured in the bright blue light that shined along the swords razor edge. The blade pierced the open mouth traveling through the throat penetrating the skull. It’s demonic carcass spouted flames as he shrugged skeletal remains free from biting steel.  In the same motion he spun with the force of the swing cleaving the next dog from stem to stern. Tearing claws ripped into his back taking him hard to the ground, he rose to his knees. Teeth sank into his scalp. The pain wasn’t real muted almost entirely by pure adrenaline. The sword rose stabbing backwards he pierced the things throat. It’s body started to smolder it’s head sliding down to  meet the blades hilt. He regained his footing barely able to defensively brandish the blade before the remaining five struck all at once. Jagged teeth descended toward his face and it was only now he realized he was on the ground. His hands grabbed the gaping maw forcibly halting death. Teeth sank in his arm, leg and chest. He stared the demonic entity face to face. It snarled ready to chew off his head. His arms gave next would be a moments pain climaxing in the form of the silence eternal.

Than all at once it seemed everything stopped than moved backwards. The wolves were flying, flying as if flung skyward like tiny motes of dust stirred by the sweeping of some giant broom. Their figures winked out of sight as Reist’s head fell weary and hard to the unforgiving earth. Someone stood over him

The hooves and legs of a graceful deer melded with the flesh of womanly thighs, remaining woman to the advent horizon of her bare breasts partially concealed by the large talisman of beaten gold about her neck. Her skin glowed the faintest blue, doe eyes peeked out between winding horns like those of a ram branching through the tangle of green jungle that was her hair.

“Mi Lady you saved my life…”

 

 Reist was an apparition a shadow that moved through the night in complete and utter silence. Every foot fall blended with the rolling waves of mist blanketing the wasted lands. He carried no torch. His path ahead illuminated solely by the faint glow of runes scripted into his weapons, and around his eyes. These contained the ladies blessing, nothing in these Godforsaken lands could be killed without them. As these were the lands inhabited by the formless.

He was coming to the outskirts of what was left of the forest. The trees mostly dead woods gnarled and bent. He ducked into their cover removing the long bow from his shoulder. He stabbed a handful of arrows into the dirt.

 “Lei mer don bela crusch.”

As the command left his lips from the lost language, his vision abruptly changed. The mists no longer hid anything from him. Stark outlines of figures were now visible. Trees, hills or even mountains no longer obscured his view for a thousand paces. Demons only strong enough to take animal hosts would lack the mental capacity to give him the kind of knowledge he required.  Nothing inhabiting these lands was here naturally as there was so little about it that could sustain life. Only those fool enough to needlessly wander here drunken or otherwise served as the only prey the demons received.

 Something twisted and vile moved his direction, not terribly tall for a man though at one time it looked to have been rippling with muscle. Flesh had rotted away leaving the more resilient tissue and bone.  It stumbled closer Reist could see its head was twisted backwards. In fact it was walking towards him shoulders first. Its entire surface glowed iridescent green. This is why the Lady had not come here in his place, her power was strong they would sense her in a moment. Her life was too important to risk even in this. Now something had sensed him.

He pulled the quad folding shield from his hip locking its hinges in place, driving its spade like point in the hard ground ahead of his arrows. He knelt behind it nocking an arrow, pulling the bow string taut, aiming through the shields narrow murder hole. This thing was much stronger than what he had in mind, but it was too late to do anything about that now. He counted the steps, controlling his breathing to insure the shot would be clean, he would wait another eleven steps.

Two steps…

The arrow flew free from his finger tips streaking through the air cutting the fog like a miniature comet. He missed the things left eye hitting just above the cheek, below the socket.  The blast was incredible knocking the thing from its feet filling the air with the smell of rotten singed flesh.  Reist emerged from behind the shield two arrows nocked, aimed at the things head. It laughed with no visible explanation as to why, it had no bottom jaw. Still it spoke.

“Ahh… another fool come to die and this time one of Bardrissa’s fool chosen.”

“Silence monster you are not given the privilege of speaking the ladies name.”

Reist would kill it right now for this sacrilege, no one spoke the ladies name. He wasn’t even given that privilege.

 “Im going to ask you a question monster, and you are going to answer quickly or I will take your other eye. Blind in these lands your brethren will devour you…

Reist cast a glance over his shoulder nervously as the hollow rattle of a laugh escaped the things throat once more.

 “Little lost sheep, I smell your fear it’s intoxicating.” Half the flesh of the things face was burned away leaving stark white bone. The muscle left below the eye socket raised in an attempted smile. “I will volunteer that which you wish to know. Since you will never make it out of here alive. Who knows? Maybe we will take your body next.”

 “I have no time who is this man who has been meeting with your ilk. Whom walks between your lands and the lands outside.”

“So Bardrissa has sensed his presence.” A strange sense of satisfaction crossed the things face. “Tell her the outside worlds blasphemy of serving false idols has come to an end. Our hour of return is near and not even she can stand against he who shall remain nameless.” The hollow rattle resounded low in the demons throat. It matters not if you believe what I say. You will learn soon enough…”

An eerie howl split the air sending an icy chill down Reist’s back demon wolves were close his welcome had been worn out. His time had run out. He loosed both arrows taking both of the things eyes. Backing away he pulled the shield from the ground folding it haphazardly. The thing thrashed with cries of rage swinging blindly in all directions attempting to strike a fleet of foot Riest.

 The thing’s voice echoed after him in a shrill call he could not outrun.

“You Bastard !!! We will see your kind exterminated from existence we will butcher your  families. We will eat your children fresh from the womb. The rivers will run red with your   blood!”

 

 The massive pyramid at the cities center dominated the landscape, from the city gates it had to be over forty thousand paces from where he stood and he could still make out the decorative artwork. Crows of onyx were inlayed on every block ascending to a larger than life triangular onyx tip. Fires burned everywhere in large metallic bowls. Even where not visible you could accurately place their position by the smoke rising above the roofs of block houses.  The houses surrounded the dominating structure in symmetrical circles evenly spaced between rings of farmland.

 Ruesello walked the main road with his head on a swivel. Small smooth stones crunched beneath his feet with the texture of glass balls. The city of the Sovron’s was impressive to say the least, legendary to say the most.

“So this is he, this is our new God.”

Ruesello turned his head to face the direction of the deep voice. His procession had stopped before a large crowd. His priestess Ladonya spoke.  The crowd parted allowing the small party passage.

“Yes your reverence, Jombyyl is no more. Our new God has made the trek from the arena, in nothing but the robe of his mother. He has borne his flesh to Mother Woe and he has shed his blood to the sand. He has honored our customs without complaint or tears. He is legitimate.

 A bare chested man with pitted and pockmarked skin stood directly ahead wearing a bronze expressionless mask standing atop a half pyramid. He looked down on them, eyes locking Ruesello

 “Mmmmhuh, and who substantiates this claim.”

 An awkward pause preceded the high priest’s words as he searched Rusello’s small party with skeptical eyes.

“I do your reverence.”

The buxom goddess shrugged free from her robe letting it fall disheveled at her feet. She wore not a stitch of clothing beneath, baring milky flesh that looked as if never kissed by the sun. A quiet murmur went through the crowd, a single name resonated, on every set of lips Simornna.

“Goddess of fertility to what do we owe the pleasure? ” The old priest clearly was not one of Simmorna's flock. His quick words telling of his tiresome attitude towards her antics. He would never have the spine to voice it directly.

She turned to face Ruesello eyeing him. "So you are the one that killed Jombyyl." Everything that made her arousing jiggled as she took steps toward him. She grasped his hand in hers bidding him to sit. "He was dear to me and beloved by his people. You have quite the task ahead." One of the hand maidens was on the ground, down on all fours serving as a bench. The other shrugged free from the confining robe, coming to stand beside her mistress, holding a small wash basin in her left palm. Simorrna squeezed the wash cloth. Water trickled like dew drops sparkling along the curves and contours of her flesh. She dropped to her knees taking Ruesello’s battered foot in her hand gingerly wiping away the grime and gore. The Goddesses smile was coy "So tell me young God are you prepared for a campaign of blood, to kill all those whom oppose your will?"

The sky was tinted the color of blood as Ruesello beheld the sovereign sun’s rising for the first time. It had just begun its ascent climbing the distant craggy peaks of the Aduula’s Horn mountain range. It would be several hours before its much larger sister Woe rose to join it, over powering its waning rust colored hue with intense white light. The climate of this morning was just as any other, arid and dry. Dust mingled with sand whipped by howling winds stirred  swirling clouds, reflecting an eerie otherworldly red glow. Four heavily cloaked figures walked ahead, leaning into the wind. The old sapphire eyed man walked beside him, donning a black cloak trimmed with golden thread work. He turned his head to meet the eyes of the young God.

“Your victory was impressive .”

The old man’s whispered words were all but lost in the howling gale as Ruesello read his lips more than heard him.

Ruesello looked on in silent contemplation weighing this grizzled and weathered figure before responding.  “Oh is that so? I consider it more of a tragedy than anything.”

The old man grunted indecisively as his eyes searched the young God’s face, rapidly darting.

“And just what is so tragic about surviving?”

“The cost that such a thing comes.”

The old man smiled blood, as the light played off colorless teeth.

“You, whom is not yet a day born wishes to question the savagery of our ways?”

“I don’t question , I only accept the reality of it all, is hard to stomach.”

“Of all the rain that fills the celestial heavens mi lord, you are but a single drop of water. Somewhere in your peoples finite wisdom they came to covet intelligence and cunning ahead of brute force. You are a product of this and nothing more; you are what you have been made.”

Now it was Ruesello’s turn to be dumbfounded, he squinted with a hint of disbelief.  The old man spoke.

“You don’t believe me ? Allow me to make things not so clouded so that you truly understand how fragile your existence is. Than you might understand that there is reverence in our traditions.”

 “There is reverence in making me killer moments after my first breath?”

The old man took an exasperated breath pausing for the briefest of seconds before speaking

“No mi lord, killing is your identity. You will come to understand this in time… I can see now time, must teach you patience child. When you are ready to learn and not show such impudence, I'll find you. Excuse me- your people await.”

He turned to watch the old man, shuffle back the direction they had traveled doing nothing to mask the irritation in his body language.  He disappeared, swallowed up by the crisscrossing winds of the coming sand storm.

 The journey south was one made in silence with only his shadow to keep him company. Ruesello’s escorting party remained aloof not even chancing a glance back.  Time moved on at a crawl, prolonging each footstep. Sand that had once seemed cool and comfortable to the touch had become cruel and cutting. His feet had become bloodied and raw eventually blistering as Woe took her place in the heavens. The heat grew unbearable as the sights and sounds of the journey changed from shifting dunes and roaring winds to the caw of circling birds above the craterous chasm he now walked along the edge of.

After some time, the monotony of the journey was interrupted by the fast pounding of tribal drums. From the distance it almost gave the allusion of a thunder crack that carried on from underground. His feet cooled mercifully as the path brought him into the shade of the large mountain.

Sparse green growth dotted the landscape here fed by narrow man made channels of water.  The drums grew louder echoing off the rocky peaks mingling with unintelligible chants.  Smoke rose from flames licking, above high stone walls. The smell of cooked meats filled the air with a pungent aroma that made the young God’s mouth water. He followed his small procession that had formed a single file line. They stopped at the cities entrance before a pair of crossed spears.

“Who begs entrance into the holy city of the Sovrons and the revered God of death.”

Two guards stood to either side of the gateway dressed in primitive armor made of bleached bone. The one speaking raised his spear toward the hood of the lead robed figure.

Ebony locks fell free as the figure at spear point quickly tugged the hood from her head. Ladonya was a woman soft featured with a hard tone.

“None beg, you fool we escort your new God, if you had any sense about you, you would fall on your face and beg for your life for this indiscretion.”

“You speak blasphemy none have bested Jombyyl in over twenty thousand suns. He is invincible!”

“As high priestess of the thirteenth order, you dare question me. You dare make accusations that I lie.”

Ruesello  looked the man up and down standing the same distance from the guard, he had from Jombyyl. The man’s beady eyes peeked out from the hollow eye sockets of the gigantic elk skull with bad intent.

“You dare insult a member of my priesthood from your lowly position!!”

The guard Spat at Ruesello’s feet.

“You are no God of mine! In life and death I serve only Jombyyl, I will never serve a lowly, puny bastard Chagras, from a whore mother such as Chambliss.”

“Mi lord allow me to make him the first blood sacrifice I make in your name!”

“Try it whore priestess and I will slay you and your pretender God where you stand.”

Ruesello’s eyes took on a haunting leer, a devilish smile split his face as his unbridled temper got the better of him.  “Allow me to tell you how your fool of a god died. - Let’s see first I chopped off his hands, than I sliced out his eyes. I impaled him on his own sword before ultimately- beheading him.

The guard dropped the spear. He made a move to unsheathe his sword that he never completed. His face went white as his mouth twisted in fear. His shock filled eyes watched in the throes of death. The quivering mass in Ruesello’s fist had once been the man’s throat. With a gurgling of blood he attempted to speak, falling lifeless to the ground crimson pooling around the feet of his brother guard.

“How about this one lord, shall he die too? Shall I kill him for you?”

The priestess was already reaching for her blade as Ruesello stepped toward the man. Well if he could be called that, he had barely passed his boyhood.

 “What’s your name guard.”

 “Basul Mi Lord.”

“Well Basul, are you foolish enough to die for your beloved Jombyyl.”

The boy shook with such fright his knees knocked together with a hollow rattle.

 “No your Godship I am not so foolish.”

 “Good I harbor no desire to spill more blood this day.”

  “Open the gates Basul.”

  “At once Mi Lord"

 In the wake of advertising and promoting "Borrowed Time" I have been left in an unfamiliar void. For almost the last two years there hasn't been a day where I have not been writing something. Once again I find myself compelled to open the flood gates of my imagination and set sail through the seas of dreams.

Here is the very first look at The Hand of The God Slayer.

The Giant of a God paced, circling the unearthly pulsating glow in the center of the coliseum. His imposing horned shadow, cast along the walls and floor in exaggerated proportion from the many torches bracketed in the rounded walls. The air was thick with tension, and though there were hundreds in attendance the silence could be described as deafening. This was the trial, the awakening from a dreamless sleep all false gods experienced on their journey from oblivion into existence.  Jombyyl remembered It well, for It was here almost forty thousand sun’s ago he had slain his predecessor.  Instinctively he tightened his grip on the monstrous blade, driven point first into the cold cobblestone floor. His hot breath billowed before his parted lips in an anxious pant, betraying both his unease and blood lust.

The glow was starting to coalesce, taking on a more human appearance.  Appendages had begun to form out of the heatless light source. His black eyes were unwavering as he refused the impulse to blink and then he saw it, the first flickering of consciousness. Cruel malicious eyes now stared into his own, shining out like twin emerald signal fires.  This would be his fourth conquest since his people had called or awakened him from nothingness.  The skulls of the previous three he wore proudly, threaded through the eye sockets as a necklace. His free hand found its way to his grisly trophies in what could only be described as a loving caress. Fond memories flooded his mind as he became more and more excited by this current prospect.  

He had disemboweled his first challenger. A grotesque, stark naked, bull headed beast man, the hide and horns of which he had used to make his headdress .The center skull was reserved for this monster.  This easily had been his most memorable battle to date, as the beast had stood three heads higher than he. His eyes found their way to several massive gashes marring the blood stained flooring.

The monsters massive broad axe had cleaved the ground with such force that the indentions made by It collected pools of blood to this day.  The other two had been less memorable, hardly a challenge for his time hardened might. They had been human in appearance like him, but had lacked the size and sheer girth. Of the two only one had managed to strike him, she had been a rarity, a buxom would be goddess known as Chambliss. He bore the scar across his throat in remembrance of her blade to this day. She remained in his memory more from lust than anything else. It had almost been a shame to ruin such a perfect example of female form by squeezing her throat until her head popped like an over ripe melon. 

 For the first time he dare take his eyes off his quarry in a caustic glance around the room. Atreais God of The Hunt was seated just above him on the balconies in the high arched thrones that all the God’s sat. His resplendent coat of furs and various animal skins lie draped across his lap. His spear and shield remained at the ready.  He acknowledged Jombyyl with a nod of his unkempt curly locks. Simornna the Goddess of fertility was seated to his right. She represented both the culmination of lust in man and the endearing innocence of motherhood.  A youthful face Alabaster in shade framed luxurious eyes of blue, set off by pouty pink lips. Her body, all curves was a daring impossibility of feminine proportion. She wore a skimpy covering of colorful bird feathers hanging loosely in the most convenient of areas, allowing a stray wind the opportunity to reveal a look at the taboo.  Like her appearance Simornna was an extreme paradox. She had been as much a mother figure to Jombyyl as she had a lover.  However Jombyyl was no fool, Simornna belonged to no man and every man.  The play thing of the God’s, and her devout, existed for one purpose and that was to please appetites of the flesh

 

His eyes returned to the center of the room toward the glow where the wraith was being fast replaced by knitted bone and flesh. Jombyyl was disappointed he had hoped this one would be larger well at least this one was somewhat taller.  However he would still be short compared to Jombyyl and in width he wouldn’t make a third of him.

A smatter of cheering erupted from the closer seats followed by a thunderous roar. It was time! Raising his arms sky ward Jombyyl turned to face the masses.  The roar grew to a deafening level as the slow deliberate chant of his name echoed throughout the coliseum.

 

The first breath of life was lost among the raucous cries for blood. Eyes of emerald fluttered open for the first time, slowly training into focus on the giant. The newborn was kneeling, naked, prostrated and in awe with the sights and sounds. He rose to his feet, body shivering from both the chill of the air and the atmosphere. Faces distorted with lust and rage, were all around making an awful noise that hurt his ears.  Their attention mainly seemed to be focused on the Giant who for some reason seemed to be focused on him. The Giant was making all kinds of strange gestures, raising a sword as large as a man, leveling it in his direction.

A grandfatherly figure, who wore a blue cloak draping to his feet, materialized from a briefly illuminated circle. His long silvery beard wagged with every step, protruding from the hood that hid his face.  He raised a long fingered heavily veined hand, in an almost insignificant gesture as he came to stop at the room’s center. Before his fingers closed on his hood an eerie calm fell on the room, he drew back the hood, allowing long silver hair to cascade around his shoulders. “Brothers and Sisters…”  He paused dramatically allowing the acoustics of the room to carry his quivering stern voice.  “We meet here to honor the tradition established by those who came before us…. So on and so forth. As you all know, this will be a battle to the death! The champion Jombyyl… The raucous cries erupted anew at the mention of the God’s name. The grandfatherly figure raised a hand in haste to quickly silence the rabble. He didn’t look up as he continued in a commanding tone. “Jombyyl, The God of Death champion of the lands of the Sovron’s, and the lands extending to the peaks of Aduuala’s Horn… faces the usurper to his throne, Ruesello only son of Chambliss.”

The bearded man turned to face Ruesello, the deep creases around the man’s eyelid’s foretold the pity concealed in his deep sapphire gaze. He unhooked the latch on the silver chain that fastened the cloak to his throat draping it across a spindly arm. “This was your mother’s, child.”

Ruesello’s uncertain fingers gripped the cloth of the fine cloak testing the material, a new born babe experiencing the sensation of touch for the first time. Wordlessly he accepted the offered cloak draping it around his shoulder’s, pulling its cowl up to cover his long coppery mane. The old man’s hands found their way to the silver belt, sheathed with a pair of daggers, strapped diagonally across his chest. He pulled the belt over his shoulder allowing the metallic chain to dangle freely as he waited for Ruesello’s hand. The dagger’s felt heavy, as the- would- be God accepted. Eyes of emerald sparkling in childlike wonder as they examined the proffered blades and the ornate design’s depicted on the sheathes.  

“Wipe that grin off your face boy, don’t you know what this is!”

 Ruesello did not answer immediately as he cocked his head to the side with an expressionless blank stare. The old man’s voice had been little more than a sharp whisper intended for Ruesllo’s ears alone. Playful wonder quickly extinguished as the fire in Ruesello’s eyes blazed to life in amusement.  “Yes I know exactly why I’m here, to kill that monster.” The old man was taken aback, aghast as his eyes widened at the blunt nature of the response. Ruesello witnessed his own face trapped in the reflection of the old man’s wizened stare. His countenance angelic and porcelain, his hair wild coppery waves, above eyes of an uncalm ocean tide.  There was truth in his wild, expression that contained no malice, however it betrayed an instinctual need to kill.

The old man backed away, Jombyyl strode forward taking massive steps to stand toe to toe with his challenger. His massive sword was tucked behind one arm resting against his elbow as he nodded. Ruesello pulled the daggers free from his sheathes, the blades were beautiful a sparkling silver shrine to pain. He turned the blades over and over in anxious hands. Admiring how they caught the light.

“Let the battle begin!” The old man swept both hands forward toward one another in a visual cue to commence.

Ruesello’s daggers glinted before his face, crossed over one another. He dropped to a low crouch. Jombyyl’s massive shadow cloaked Ruesello as he stood before him. His eyes full of conceit daring his challenger to make the first move. Steel clashed with silver as Ruesello sprung from the ground accepting the open invitation. The crowd roared with delight! The sword cut through the air with impossible speed intended for Ruesello’s throat. With awkward grace he stumbled from harm’s way, back arched avoiding decapitation.  Jombyyl had been much quicker than Ruesello had expected, neither his hulking frame nor his unwieldy weapon slowed him in the least. Quicker than a man can blink Jombyyl’s sword crushed the ground at Ruesello’s feet. Barely he managed to jump backwards to avoid being cleaved in two. A wide gash scarred the arena floor as displaced cold cobble stones rained from the air as if hail. Jombyyl took a step back allowing the paralyzing nature of the power and speed he had shown, sink in. The champion’s eyes were alight symbolizing one thing with almost vocal clarity. This is where you die! He taunted the young god opening and closing his fist in a gesture of, come to me.

Jombyyl’s battle prowess shook Ruesello to the core, the god’s speed and power if anything were awe inspiring. However they were far from perfect.

 “You’re fast and strong elder God, I'll give you that much. Too bad it won't be enough.”

The words that had left Ruesello’s lips had been flat expressionless sounding almost bored.

“You arrogant little whelp! Do you know how many have fallen to this sword?”

Taking an exasperated breath the fledgling god answered. “No though I imagine you are about to tell me."

 "When I’m done with you, you will beg for death. But oh no, I will not grant it. I will bring you to death’s very cusp, and snatch you back long enough to draw breath, and then when all the unspeakable tortures I will do to you have amused me, and your pain brings me no more pleasure, I will have you fall on my sword, by your own hand as a befitting sacrifice to a true God.

The cloak’s hood shaded Ruesello’s eyes eerily as he stared up at the hulking monstrosity. The words forming on his lips seemed more of a truth than a statement.

“Im sorry Elder God this is where you fall.”

Ruesello smirked as Jombyyl predictably bull rushed straight ahead. He held his ground as the monster prepared to deliver the crushing death blow.

Ruesello stepped inside the proximity of the strike. The force of Jobyyl’s swing severed his own hands from his wrists as they met the crisscrossed blades. Biting silver turned his forearms into twin fountains of blood. Jombyyl’s eyes widened holding stubs at eyelevel. He fell to his knees screaming in a pitch too high for a man to achieve under normal circumstance. Mercilessly Ruesello sliced the silver razor through eyes stealing their sight.  He stomped the hilt of Jombyyl’s sword raising its tip to the fallen gods chest. He gripped the blades pommel in both hands. With one push he drove the hilt forward impaling Jombyyl on his own monstrous sword, briefly silencing the inhuman screams.

He knelt beside Jombyyl.

 “See I told you this is where you fall.”

He twisted the giant blades hilt like a makeshift torture device, drawing screams from a dead man’s lips that would make demons cry. Jombyyl’s howls echoed off the walls, and ceiling, as an unending dirge to misery. The raucous cries that had once filled the air were replaced with a panicked hush. Everywhere Ruesello’s eyes fell they met a face lined with fear, revulsion or both.

“Come on I thought this is what you wanted, you cry for blood and I give you a river! No? I must have been mistaken.”

Blades that had once nicked the throat of Jombyyl in the hands of Chambliss drank freely. Arteries poured profusely as Ruesello scissored the head from its shoulders.  The headless body fell forward.

The cheers started low gradually drawing strength as he turned mockingly to face the masses. Ruesello’s name was on every tongue as the fickle crowd accepted their new champion, their new god of death.

As this year draws to a close I'm reminded of the Herculean effort that was put forth to finish Like Clockwork: Borrowed Time at the tail end of October. With that said I must say the sales figures almost two months in are right where I expected them to be. The professional feedback on the Indie front has been overwhelmingly positive. It's that in and of itself that gives me pause. A reason to hope that my co-author and myself in our attempts to reinvent the wheel did not do so in vain.

Like all things in the world of commerce artistic or otherwise, it is you my curious reader that will cast the die that determines our stories relevance. It was our drive to be so different that alienated us from traditional publishing houses. More times than I can count the only complaint we would receive from agent submissions is and I quote "I have no idea how to represent this."

This is where the conversation becomes interesting. To put it simply they didn't want to take a chance. Everything has to fit in the nice little box of what works. Traditionally no one would ever write a seven hundred page plus Steampunk epic fantasy. Such things have no place in the pantheon of safe bets that make a quick buck.

By no means is that an insult to those that write in such settings. I cut my writing teeth on J.R.R Tolkien and Terry Brooks. I honed my craft on the works of Brent Weeks and Michael J. Sullivan. These are only a handful of authors
that have helped to shape my art. However I am also a student of the earth shattering genre
defining franchises. What was the Space Opera before George Lucas placed monks in space with magical powers and called them Jedi? What was Steampunk after Like Clockwork? That page of history is left for you to write my curious reader. Adieu...

Sincerely J.R.

What a long strange trip it has been over the past twenty-two months writing Borrowed Time. I can scarcely believe the book has been available on the Amazon marketplace for almost an entire month now. My co-author (Clifton Stringfield) and myself would humbly like to thank each and every one of you that has picked up a copy of our work, it's you ultimately that make this possible. The printed work will be the next real hurdle to challenge. Create Space seems a viable option as it has yielded success for several rising indie stars. One of particular critical acclaim is the lovely Mrs. C.L. Schneider (Her new book "Magic Scars" will be available exclusively through Amazon in the upcoming months.) The problem my co-author and I face is our novel is a 720 page behemoth that has a prohibitively high price to print. Therefore the decision has been made to offer the original full length tale into a two volume set. The question I pose to you curious reader whom most likely stumbled onto this blog my mistake or in a much rarer case an exhaustive search for the writer of that odd novel you picked up on Amazon with such a strange cover it demanded opening. Should the Borrowed TimeEbook be offered in two volumes as well? Any feedback on the topic would be wonderful to hear. Thank you for your time