Chapter 1 - The Demon

Chapter One - The Demon

I

        The Demon stared at the corpse for a long while. Emotions it did not understand stirred within its gut. It detested them. They came from something it had buried long ago and would not let free ever again. Its burning irises shifted from orange flames to cool blue sky, as the feelings toward the corpse were subdued by its will.
        Although it still had immense power at its disposal, without the God’s direct intervention it could be killed by natural means, such as a sword. That is what the corpse tried to do, while the man still lived. Kill a Demon.
        Again, The Demon’s gut soured. It could not break its gaze from the frozen blue eyes that stared up at it. The corpse’s dead eyes matched its own, like staring into a mirror’s reflection. If it were not for the diagonal slash that split the corpse’s chest the Demon would have thought the corpse alive, by how those blue eyes glared into its own. The corpse’s armour looked like the Demon’s second skin but was inanimate and cold in comparison; the life had been pulled from the metal. Old wrinkled human skin could be seen in the skull faced helm’s eye slits and that was another was another feature that disgusted the Demon. The dead man’s frailty was repulsive.
        Tentatively, as if afraid the corpse would stop it, the Demon reached for the sword in the corpse’s hand and the scabbard at the hip. It freed both and took a moment to examine the blade. The weapon was a twin to the sword that hung at its own hip. The pure white, almost glowing, metal did not reflect the Demon’s face despite the sun’s radiance on it. The steel was blank and untainted by the World’s images. The Demon could feel the sword’s sentient soul churning within the white metal, which caused the weapon to vibrate in a way that only something like the Demon could feel. It sheathed the corpse’s sword in the freed scabbard and tied it to its hip, opposite to its own. The Demon was not sentimental, and it preferred to use only one sword, but the two were meant to be together. They had been forged in unison, in another era long lost to time’s sands.
        “Goodbye, old friend,” The Demon said to the corpse, with a voice that was its own but not.
        It shivered as if shaking from a momentary sleep and snarled at the once familiar sounds its mouth made. It felt the other moving inside and locked what stirred away, like the emotions. With a blink, it pulled its vision from the corpse and strode away without further hesitation.
        The massive trees around the Demon shrunk away, creating an unbarred path for it. The movement seemed impossible for such monolithic things, especially with vigour and speed on display. In another life, it would have taken that as a sin, but it knew better now. The Demon did not care for the God’s Woods as it once would have. This forest served its own will and not its creators. The World was crumbling, and the Demon would do everything in its power to maintain the God’s creation, no matter the cost, but for now this abomination would be allowed to exist. A more pressing matter needed its attention than the forest that pulled away from its touch.

II

        Days passed into weeks. The Demon walked without rest or substance. Hunger was a mortal frailty it did not suffer. However, it did thirst. It ignored the sensation. Thirst was a weakness that it refused to succumb too. It knew the God’s were merely testing it with the craving. In order to conduct their will, it resisted. It refused to become lost.
        Others had not remained faithful to the Gods. They failed their test, and the Demon could smell that failure on the wind. They succumbed to their thirst and punishment would be the reward for their weakness. The Demon would see to that, personally. They would suffer a fate worse than the corpse for their lack of faith.

III

        The Demon sniffed. Its nostrils flared beneath its metallic outer skin. The air reeked with rot. Teeth that resembled a dagger’s point glistened in the moon’s light and a hiss whistled from between them in response to the foul smell. It drew its long thin bladed sword, which absorbed any light that touched its white steel, before taking a step towards the inn.
        Wood splinters stood outwards at various angles from the inn’s walls and supports, like a thousand needles pushed into a string ball. There were large gaps in the roof and the grey colour indicated the weather worn nature in the materials that still clung to the structure. A shutter bounced back and forth against a window as if an invisible hand opened and closed it repeatedly. There were no lights lit. Whether from the overgrown grass or the webs covering every window, it looked abandoned.
        The Demon’s nose told it otherwise. It could smell the individual disease and tainted scents as it got closer. The inn decayed because what resided inside devoured all life, even the vitality in the structure’s wood. With a blink, fire consumed the blue in the Demon’s eyes and glowed in the night’s dark. The night was expelled from its vision as the flames grew in intensity. Light became black and darkness became white. The world became a contrasted backwards light spectrum that should have disorientated the Demon but did the exact opposite. This was its true sight. The sight it used to hunt its prey.
        The fire in its eyes was not the only change the Demon undertook. The rest were more subtle but added to the Demon’s horrific appearance. Its once smooth, semi-metallic, outer shell became bone-like. Ribs pushed against the smooth plate around its chest, making the Demon appear more skeletal and less like a man in armour. Sharp scale-like triangular plates along its spine bent inwards ever so subtly and dull bone spikes eased out from the craters. Similar spikes, on each shoulder blade, protruded up and out with bone cracking sounds. Its arms hardened and became less bulky resembling lean muscles, while its sharp pointed fingers tips grew in length, like a lion unsheathing its claws. Its hips grew protrusions, like its shoulder blades and its legs became defined by powerful musculature like its arms. Lastly, its taloned toes twisted upwards and then down, like an arch; resembling long avian talons, which bit into the soil with each footfall.
        Again, it hissed as the rotten meat smell carried by the wind filled its nostrils. The underlying faint and unnatural taint made its lips twitch in disgust. It felt confident it could guess what caused the grotesque scents. With a slow pace that bordered cautious, it approached the entrance. Hinges squawked like a dying bird as it pressed the door open with its clawed fingertips. The no longer subtle taint rolled over it like thick humid air. If the Demon had the ability too, it would have gagged.
        Without pause, the Demon marched into the central room as casually as a patron might once have. Upturned tables and broken chairs littered the ground between the Demon and the bar - located on the room’s far side. It could smell the dried blood, absorbed by the floor’s wood planks. Its mouth watered, like a hunting predator at the scent from wounded prey. Angry with itself, it pushed away the thirst that sought to corrupt it and resumed its focus.
        The floor creaked with each step, but the Demon did not care for stealth. If the noise drew the prey out, its deed would be made quicker. Its burning eyes scanned the room as it approached the bar, sidestepping the littered debris with graceful ease. Dust had settled on the bar’s L-shaped counter and webs sprouted from its surface where it connected to the wall. Slits, in the counter’s top, crisscrossed the wood’s grain in fours and fives. The Demon assumed they were caused by fingernails, likely from someone resistant to the idea of being dragged across.
        The ceiling creaked and stole the Demon’s attention. It looked in the sound’s direction and used its sublime skill to lower its footfall’s impact on the floor, preventing the weathered boards from squawking further. A thump, like the sound from a heavy flour sack dropping, shook a dust cloud from the rafters. With a hunter’s methodical movements, the Demon edged towards the only staircase, just to the bar’s right and began to take the steps one at a time; letting its full weight settle on each before taking another.
        The Demon scanned the railed balcony above, vanquishing the dark with its supernatural vision. There was no movement. All further sound ceased. It took the last step and looked down the hallway to its right. Its reversed sight made the moon’s light black, which entered through a hole in the roof, and distorted the hallway beyond. The Demon could just make out the far wall beyond the blur.
        It moved into the hallway, despite its deteriorated sight, and took extra caution around the open room doors. Although the Demon was functionally immortal and could heal most wounds, its flesh and blood body could still be killed by brute force. For the first time, it leveled its sword as the tainted smell grew more intense and overwhelming. It pushed forward, letting senses be its guide.
        As it pushed through the moon light, the grey washed vision was no longer distorted. Its lips twisted into a disgusted snarl and its jagged teeth chattered. Just visible on the floor, at the last door’s threshold, a hand and arm were slowly dragged into the room. The Demon felt baited but decided to spring the trap. Patience was not its strongest quality and its confidence bordered on hubris, though this was for good reason, it had the strength to overcome dangers that would see lesser beings slain. It did not know if the limb was attached to a body, but the flesh was human and not from what it hunted. The limb was dead, however. It knew because its supernatural prey sight saw the skin as a complete jet in tone. Only life showed any light in its eyes.
        A wet slurping cut the silence followed by a tooth jarring crack. The Demon approached the door and saw oil black blood streaks leading into the room. Again, its face twisted into a snarl. Disgust filled its stomach and anger followed. An abomination was in the next room, there was no doubt.
        Just as the Demon made to enter the room, the world exploded around it. With a force that would have killed an unarmoured man, the Demon was thrust into the hall’s opposite wall and crashed through. It did not wait to land on its back and pushed its legs under itself with preternatural speed. Its taloned feet tore furrows into the floor’s planks as it slowed to a halt and it pushed back whatever had tackled it. Splinters sailed through the air in the conflicts wake, and dust created a haze that smelled like a crypt. A blurred shape launched at the Demon and screamed a blood curdling roar. The world slowed as the Demon’s senses adjusted to its plight and pushed its physical body into an accelerated state that would have caused a mortal’s heart to burst. Veins grew thick across its frame and looked ready to burst. Its mouth opened wide and distended, like a snake dislocating its jaw when eating prey.
        Faster than any eye could follow, a pure white light slashed at the shape. A satisfied – almost pleasurable – sigh left the Demon’s lips as its sword tore into the thing’s flesh. An arm flew across the room and flopped, twitching onto the floor, just beneath the only window. The Demon’s slid to a stop from the initial tackle and stood straight. It slowed the blood hurdling through its veins with a thought and its mouth clicked shut, resuming its normal less animated rictus grin. Barely a second had passed since it was attacked.
        The Demon took in the squirming creature and found it a wretched thing. The creature’s body was skeletal thin, and its skin bordered the translucent. Varicose veins stretched in every direction. Muscles hung off its bones like thin ropes and strained to breaking. A long and stretched jaw roared – stretching its triangular face – in bestial anguish as the creature writhed on the floor. Fangs, too large for its mouth, chattered with each whimpering breath taken. Thick molasse-like blood poured from the stump where its arm was once connected to its shoulder, and its remaining hand clawed wildly at the wound in a foolhardy effort to make its pain end.
        “Disgusting,” The Demon said, realizing what this creature was. It was a blighted thing, a soulless diseased husk. A ghoul.
        The ghoul growled at the Demon’s voice. Pain no longer left its lips and thick saliva strands dripped around its fangs. It rolled to its feet and remained hunched, like a frog ready to pounce. A screech erupted from its mouth with a tempest’s fury.
        As fast as the Demon could lift its sword, the ghoul darted away. The Demon was slow to follow. It watched the ghoul leap against a wall in the hallway and propel itself up to the hole in the roof and out. The roof rumbled with the ghoul’s bounding flight, causing more dust to free itself and add to the haze. At an almost leisurely pace, the Demon gave chase. Again, it used its preternatural senses and followed the ghoul’s scraping movements without sight. The ghoul’s scramble took it across the remaining roof and off the inn’s height. As the Demon took to the stairs, it heard the ghoul enter the inn’s cellar from an outside hatch in the back. It smiled. There was a nest.

IV

        The Demon left the inn and circled wide. Having seen what it would face, it was more cautious than before. These were wild things, and it would not be caught by surprise again; it refused to be.
        The cellar lay open and even with its prey sight the Demon could not pierce the darkness within. To a mortal eye the enclosure was a spine-chilling black; the kind that made someone feel like something there was something watching in the depths below. In this case, that was true.
        To the Demon it was a grey detail-less haze, like one might imagine a half blind person could see. It felt its eye lid twitch at the situation’s annoyance. Methodically and reluctantly, it drew its second sword and was unwilling to admit how good it felt to hold both blades, despite its preference to use only one. It took the first step into the cellar. Immediately, it was revolted by the smell below. The ghoul had soured the air, but this was amplified to such a degree that it turned the Demon’s organs. The scent felt old and the Demon memorized its stench in order to set a benchmark for future hunts. Somehow, it knew there would be more to hunt.
        It descended into the depths. The space was quite large and may have been a naturally formed cave, only later being adapted into a cellar space. The walls were lined with shelving and the most used goods rotted until they sank between the wood planks that held them. The spoiled food assaulted the Demon’s nostrils and it struggled to pick out the ghoul’s blood in the air. All sounds were muffled by the straw thatching, packed against the walls and ceiling. The Demon guessed the straw was used to keep the cellar dry from groundwater. Much was destroyed, but it still did an excellent job muffling the Demon’s refined hearing. Again, its eye twitched and it growled with a bestial annoyance at its impairment in this environment. It felt like it was walking into a trap again but did not give the ghoul that much credit. After all, it was a mindless and wild thing. Aside from hunger, it had little else.

V

        Cold seeped into every air particle as the Demon ventured further into the depths. It knew ghouls preferred the dark; all corrupted things did. Memories from their previous lives still formed in their rabid minds, which caused them to hide from the light. This ghoul was no different.
        What space that was used as the cellar dwindled to ragged scraps and became a cavern with water worn walls, confirming this space was a naturally made. Still the Demon’s senses were fogged by the place and it determined more was at work. Something with similar powers to its own had been here and was the true reason its senses were dimed. A being touched by the Gods or their Celestials were the only things that could affect the Demon in such a way. Its senses were impaired because one, like it, had created this abhorrent feeling in this space and was what it really hunted. With this conclusion, the Demon shifted its sensory organs’ perspectives, and the cave became clearer. In the same way that a man might pick out a voice in a crowd, it tweaked its ability to see, hear, and smell. The cave became less repulsive, but still obscured its senses, like a fog or perpetual ring in its ears. For moment, it wondered if this was how mortals fumbled through their existence.
        The Demon rounded a bend and the cave opened into a small underground lake. It was little more than a large pond in diameter but was deep, like a giant worm’s hole, bore into the earth. Even with impaired vision, the Demon could tell there was no more to the cave. It knew the ghoul must be here somewhere.
        As it approached the water’s edge, the liquid burped and bubbled at the lake’s centre. Ripples rolled across the water and fell still as it neared the rock embankment. Without hesitation, the Demon trudged into the water. The depth dropped quickly. With a few steps, it became submerged to its waist and it ensured its swords did not dip into the water, so they could be readily used without impediment. It stood in the pool’s depths and slowly spun, looking for any signs from its query. There were none and the Demon cursed its impaired senses. It wondered if the ghoul had somehow gotten pass it but decided that was impossible. The entrance to the cavern was narrow and there was no way the ghoul could have snuck by.
        Again, the water burped. With sudden realization, the Demon looked up. The water was disturbed not from something below, but from above. Silver cat-like eyes in their dozens stared down. Mouths opened to reveal snake-like fangs. They were dressed in this lands commoner’s cloths and bore all the wretchedness the first ghoul had already shown. Unintentionally, the Demon had found the inn’s missing patrons who were not devoured.
        The Demon let out a low hiss, similar to a mountain lion offering threat to a foreign predator that crossed its path. It could see the one-armed ghoul in the group’s centre and pointed a sword at it. As if that was the signal they waited for, the ghouls dropped from the ceiling and screamed their madness.
        The water exploded with action and white blurs flashed in the somber dark.

VI

        The Demon stepped from the cellar’s mouth, covered in sour water and putrid gore. Over a dozen corrupted bodies lay floating in the pool, forever tainting the water. All except one.
        The spikes and the spine protrusions had already withdrawn, and its second skin took on a muted metallic glint once more. It blinked away the fire in its eyes, letting the moon’s light open widen its retinas. The night’s black consumed its vision as it took on a mortal’s sight once more. Despite the darkness, it saw the pale skeletally thin thing sprinting away with its three remaining limbs.
        The Demon did not snarl any distaste. Instead, it resolved itself for what was to come. This was only the beginning, and it knew the whole land would be engulfed. It could smell this was not the only nest. This was only one in a trail that would lead it to its true prey.

        For a moment, it thought about the corpse. The one that wore armour like its own. It wished the man had heeded its words. All too human emotions threatened the Demon’s core and this time it gave an audible snarl to bury them. The feelings were discomforting.
        Without further reflection, the Demon marched into the night and followed the remaining ghoul’s tracks. It knew where the ghoul would go. A town was a few leagues away and promised the only abundant food source for the cannibalistic creature. Lavici was the town’s name, and the Demon knew that is where the coming hell would truly begin. No armies could stop it and any who encountered the diseased creature would be dragged with it into a living nightmare and madness. Lavici was not its concern, however. The stronger taint came from the West and it set off in the opposite direction from the ghoul’s.

As always, let me know what you think in the comments below or on Facebook. If you have not had a chance to read the Prologue to this new story, check it out here.

Thank you again for your time and I hope you enjoyed the first Chapter!

Brett

Celestials

Updates

Before we jump into today's post, I wanted to give another quick update. Tired of hearing thank you? Well to bad! I want to thank everyone once again for the support and the time you took to read the prologue. It was great to hear from people I have not talked to in awhile and, of course, always amazing to hear from those who I am in regular contact with in my day-to-day. Also appreciate those who shared. 

Keep the comments going and tell me honest thoughts! That is how I will improve!

On to business. As you may have all seen I am sticking to a posting schedule for Tuesdays. This will continue. My plan is to alternate weeks. One week will be showcasing art, teasers, and/or works in progress, where as the following alternating week will be the next chapter in the story. In my last 100 day challenge I found this is a mostly comfortable pace. It takes me about a week to write a chapter and another week to edit it to some from of English. This also gives me the time to draw at least one picture for the story. Maybe in the future I can go at a quick pace, but I do not want to sacrifice quality. I still want to post at least once a week, but do not want to post useless filler. 

So with that line of thinking, I give you a brief description of...

Celestials

If you have not had a chance to read the Prologue, head here first. Some of what I am about to say will make more sense after reading the Prologue and there will be slight spoilers. 

Nessia (pictured above) is a celestial. Obviously, inspired by Catholic/Christian angels. They are old testament however and always have Norse mythology elements incorporated into their attitude and design (ei Valkyries). Celestials are not only the gods messengers and servants, they are warriors - with extreme powers. Nessia for example, as alluded to in the prologue, has the ability to see throughout all the time's strands. 

During the times were the Gods are awake, the Celestials are far more active (as I mentioned above, warriors). Without going to much deeper into spoilers (as I have said previously, I don't want to give everything away and want you all to be able to explore on your own) the Celestials play key rolls behind the scenes but when they do take on form, they are far from subtle. With where Plague Wars takes place in time, they won't be readily apparent in their actions. However they enact fate and are architects of the Gods designs. 

Teaser for next week 

Chapter One - Demon

Days passed into weeks. The Demon walked without rest or substance to sustain it. Hunger was a mortal frailty it did not suffer. However, it did thirst. But it was able to ignore the sensation. Thirst was a weakness that it refused to succumb too. It knew the God’s were merely testing it with the craving. In order to conduct their will, it resisted.  

Others had not remained faithful to the Gods. They failed the test, and the Demon could smell that failure on the wind. They succumbed to their thirst and punishment would be the reward for their weakness. The Demon would see to that, personally. They would suffer a fate worse than the corpse for their lack of faith.  

As always thank you for reading. We will see you next week with the full chapter!

Brett

Plague Wars - Foreword and Prologue

 Plague Wars - Foreword

I will do my best to keep this relatively short. It has been a long journey and I am eager to get straight to the action. However, I feel it is important to state my intent for this story and explain my inspirations. 

Those who know me, know that I am a massive history fan. Its a borderline obsession. Whenever I have time and I am not working on this project, I am often painting models to a documentary or reading about one time in history or another. Antiquity is by far my favourite time period. Roman and Greek are represented in a great measure and take the center stage, at present. However, other cultures are have their place. Really, any pre and early gunpowder civilizations could one day make their way into my stories. I find grounding a fantasy world in real cultures a truly magical way to bring realism into a world. History also has endless stories to inspire and influence - it is often better than the fiction. 

Mythology. Just like history, the mythologies created by our ancestors is a beautiful thing, especially for fantasy. The mythology in our the World that you are about to be introduced to is a meld of many. Obviously, there are some Greek and Roman influences but also Catholic and Christian as well. Other's beyond that will earn their spots as more and more cultures are introduced. 

What good fantasy story would be without Knights? Well I have some of those too and they play a central part. The Champions (as I call them) are my delivery vehicle to keep the story going. In any story, connections between the characters and settings must be made and what better way to connect those things then an order of ultimate badasses who work at the fore and behind the scenes to ensure a nations prosperity? They also go by another name, Demons. Just like the European knights, their own perspectives and those around them differ. 

These are just some influences, there are many many more and they all play their part in making this story you are about to (hopefully) enjoy. That being said, in any media I consume I want to dig deep on my own and explore. So these surface level inspirations are all I am going to give for now. I want my audience to do the same. Everything you need is given to you and it is up to you to put the pieces together.

Lastly, I will leave you with an image depicting two central character's you are about to read about: Talinnius and Cordia (make sure you click on the image to enjoy a larger scale!). Some of you might recognized the gentleman on the left from a previous post, he is Talinnius, where as the woman on the right pointing the sword is Cordia. Again, you will get to know them quite well in the coming days.

Please tell me what you think. Feedback and sharing this project means the world to me. It is endlessly engaging to even get one comment and I cannot express my gratitude to those who take the time to read an enjoy what I have to write. 

Without further delay, I hope you enjoy the first part of Plague Wars!

Plague Wars - Prologue

I

        Dark Clouds swallowed the moon’s light from the land. Wind exhaled like a breath and the clouds released their fury. Rain lashed the world below. It was a savage onslaught that only added to the scene’s misery. Hot anguish within the churning bodies - pressing together - was drawn away by the freezing downpour, becoming a steaming haze just above their heads. Bright electricity rolled through the clouds at first, before slashing across the land like a whip. The heat from blue-white arcs erased the dead and melted living flesh without discrimination.
        At the battle’s center, a group stood unmolested by the sky’s supernatural onslaught. Their armour was darker than the night’s jet. When the lightning flashed, it reflected off their skeletal faces - revealing sharp fanged teeth in rictus grins. There were hundreds, and they stood statuesque amongst the writhing maelstrom surrounding them without any urge to intervene. As if signaled by some unseen force, their eyes opened as one, revealing flickering red and orange flames that consumed their irises. This was no reflection from the chaos around them. Their eyes burned with wholly unnatural fire from within. All who met their gaze, saw them as Demons.
        Their Leader, marked by thorns made into a crown upon its ridged forehead, stepped forward. It drew a sword that emanated pure white light. It hefted the blade into the air and looked as if it was made from a star’s light. The sword was like a fixed point in the sky’s vast dark ocean.
        The battle ceased around them as the two sides looked upon the Sword of Creation. Most wept and all were unable to move. The Demon’s Leader scanned the onlookers and sneered in distaste. It took a step towards the crowd and they quaked under its gaze. It stopped as split formed deep in the human masses.
        The once embattled crowds separated, like a sea parting at low tide. A lone warrior strode forward. Her eyes burned with similar fire as the Demons, but somehow - unlike the Demons - this fire was the most natural thing in creation. She did not share their armour, but the grimace on her face bore more intensity than the sneering skull-like faces that stood opposed to her. She was similar but greater in every way. Power radiated from her in a visible and tangible aura. A faint steam trail followed her in a wake from the freezing raindrops sizzling and evaporating before they could reach her. Her features were undefined, she looked both unassuming and radiant at the same time. The men and women around her each pictured a different beautiful form that was instantly forgotten as she passed. It was as if her form was not set; not fixed to one visage.
        She spoke to the Leader and her words echoed through the storm's gale-force wind; though none present could remember them. This conversation was not for the regular men and women, who had struggled and died en masse until now. However, they could feel the passion and the hurt in her voice, causing them to wail as one. An entire land’s populace, gathered to slaughter one and another, fell to their knees and howled their pain into the wind, forever changing its sound.
        The Demons did not lament. Their skull faces stared dispassionately as their Leader leveled the starlight blade, so that the point aimed at the Lone Warrior’s throat. They were chosen and were shielded from the powers at play.
        The Lone Warrior lowered her head in disappointment. For a moment, the storm ceased, and the world calmed. Everything was still. Time slowed to a standstill. They were alone, the only two beings in existence. The Lone Warrior slowly raised her eyes to meet the Demon’s Leader’s. The Demon’s Leader’s eyes flickered in the same way as wind gracing a flame’s tip, while hers remained sharp and unwavering.
        In a flash, the storm resumed with all its fury and more. Her sword flashed vertically across the Leader’s face, with the fury and speed of the lightning above. There was no time to react. The skull face roared its anger and split at the side as the slash tore up its face’s height, from jaw to temple.
        The Demon's Leader dropped the sword and the World quaked.
        It screeched in misery.
        It clawed at the wound.
        Cracks ran up and down the gaping slash. The skull gave one final roar, before falling away in two halves, revealing a man beneath. Blood ran from the wound on his face, in a great gushing burst. A living human-shaped shadow lifted from the man’s back. It clawed desperately at his flesh as it dissipated into a haze, like the water evaporating off the Lone Warrior's aura. The shadow screamed as it lost its purchase on the man’s flesh. The man’s eyes lost the fire and after a moment, became an icy blue.
        He looked up at the Lone Warrior in shock. He was free. His lips quivered and whispered, “I am so sorry...”

        The anger did not leave her gaze, but her expression softened with a hurt. She buried the pain as she could not allow herself to feel it at this time. Her time was short. She took up the starlight sword in her free hand - it glowed brighter in her grasp - and strode past the man. She looked upon the skull faced Demons as they drew their swords. They backed away from her, not from fear, but from an instinctual need for survival. She shouted her disappointment into the air in a long howling cry. The flames in their eyes flickered just, like their Leader’s but defiantly refused to extinguish.
        With a final roar, she swung the starlight blade in a great sweeping slash. White light, tinted with an electric blue, lashed at them and through them in a wave. Man-shaped shadows evaporated from their backs, like their leader, and disintegrated, with wretched inhuman screams. They fell to their knees, row after row, and the shadows cries were replaced with human anguish.
        The fire left the Lone Warrior’s eyes, leaving behind a near-white blue hue. It was the mark of those who had been touched by beings beyond this realm, the only difference was her eyes were natural to it. The fires that once possessed them were the unnatural form.

        The storm's swirling clouds began to dissolve above her and a single tear rolled to her chin. It fell to the blood and rain choked earth, but was still absorbed when it landed. The black earth parted to release a tiny green stem and a leaf unfurled from the tip. The plant flexed sharply. It burst upwards in rapid growth, until the stem hardened into a thick bark covered trunk. The leaf split and sprouted thousands like it along hearty branches that spread form the trunk's core. Roots tore through the earth, making the ground uneven. More saplings pushed from the soil. They grew like the first, rapidly and reaching high into the sky in a quest for sunlight. From the single tear, a forest, impossible in scale, grew to shield the World from the churning cloud vortex above. The lightning ceased and the rain faded.
        The horizon illuminated with the sun’s rising and the light touched the God’s Woods for the first time. It cut through the softening clouds, pushing the storm away in a red and orange tapestry. The Lone Warrior, known as the Daegon, faded as the sun’s light reached her; the Sword of Creation grew brighter than the sun itself before vanishing along with her.

II

        A tear rolled from her eye. This one was not allowed to fall. She caught it with her slender finger as it left her eye's lid.

        She watched the man with a longing and hurt that was indescribable in its feeling. Her heart was pulled from her chest. Every nerve was aflame with both sting and a numbing dull hurt, which attempted to overcome the pain. Even from the vast distance, through the swirling clouds, she met his eyes as he looked up into the sky. The blood from the wound along his face’s length was washed away by the dwindling rain. He seemed to stand alone in the devastated land and mangled bodies piled into mounds, from which more tree's grew. Although fresh life was sprouting as far as the eye could see, the land’s scars would never fully heal. However, a great forest was birthing from the misery and would be unlike any other. It would be a conduit to the afterlife.
        “He’ll be okay,” A pure white light said from behind her.
        The Daegon glanced over her shoulder into the light and said, “Thank you, Nessia.”
        With a thunder’s clap, the light solidified into a human approximation. Wings, made from pure light, unfurled from the celestial being’s back and stretched outwards, like a gigantic eagle’s hovering in flight. Robes, similar in tone to the wings, fluttered and flapped in the breeze as the wings grazed the air. The being had no face under the cowl that hovered where its head should have been. There were no limbs extending beyond the sleeveless robe’s edges, but the cloud's mist touched them revealing the being’s transparent skin.
        “I hate this Nessia,” The Daegon said to the being.
        “I am sorry I could not do more,” the celestial being said.
        “No, you did more than enough. I did not mean to sound ungrateful. You gave me the chance to save him.”
        “Achamus will live a long life,” the Celestial Being said, “His fate has shifted.”
        “Will he die from old age?”

        The hood shook back and forth, “No.”
        The Daegon looked back to the man and another tear descended her face. It dripped from her chin into the clouds she stood on. A small shower descended onto the world below.
        “We cannot deny our fate...” the Daegon said.
        “No, we can’t,” The Celestial Being agreed, “But we can shape it.”
        “Will you be okay, Nessia?” The Daegon asked.
        “The others will come for me and take my wings. That has always been my fate.”
        “You have seen it?”
        “I have,” The Celestial whispered.
        “I am sorry this will hurt you.”
        “Don’t be. Saving Achamus was necessary... to end this.”
        The Daegon nodded and pulled her eyes away from the man, “Is it time?”
        “It is,” the hood gave a as nod. “I will come with you as far as I am able.”
        “You don’t have to. I know the way.”
        “Call it fate, Daegon.”
        “I could stop them. I have the strength.”
        “No... it would destroy what we have done. The God’s would awaken from their slumber and destroy everything. Not even you have the power to stop them all at once.”
        The Daegon nodded, defeated, and remained silent for a few moments. Nessia was right. "Let's go," She said at last.
        The Celestial Being placed her invisible hand on the Daegon’s shoulder and they dissipated with the last remaining cloud, into the retreating vortex.

III

        The vortex’s fringe became less defined as the sun rose further, turning the sky into a brilliant blue. It stubbornly let out a last furious roar as if it were a living thing giving its last breath. It spent its remaining power in an ever shrinking, churning, mass. The tidal swirling ceased - reversed - then collapsed. Over time the clouds dissipated. The war was over. Mankind’s realms were separated from the Gods' once more.
        At the battle’s edge, on an overlooking bluff, a small group sneered with skeletal faces. Their former leader had always left a small force hidden in reserve. Despite their immense powers, they were not immune to death and dismemberment.

        They watched the survivors with hatred in their hearts and with score at those who were no longer amongst their numbers; those who were no longer touched. The burning in their eyes had subdued somewhat, like hot coals in a cooling fire pit, rather than the raging inferno they had once been. Slowly, one at a time, they took their leave.
        Each knew this was not the end.
        Each knew a new war would begin.
        Each knew this was an interlude to a longer war, to the final war.
        Their Gods still whispered in their ear, despite their forced slumber.
        A last Demon remained after the others withdrew. It glared with menace at the assembly and still growing forest below. After a while, it blinked, allowing a man’s blue eyes to overtake the burning orange coals. This was merely a disguise. Its power was not diminished, like those below. At last, it turned from the bluff’s tipped edge and walked towards the sunlight.
        Its shadow crawled before it, against the light, like a thousand spiders. Its serrated teeth grinned, knowing its time would come again. The Gods' War would continue in time. For now, the Gods had other duties for it. It would not be found wanting.

Thanks,

Brett

100 Days

My mom introduced me to the concept and I am eternally grateful for it. This concept put me over the edge; it allowed me to go that last mile and produce something concrete. 

I like to think I am a pretty disciplined person and in most cases I am. But like in all things - as the expression goes - life gets in the way. We all have reasons and challenges that prevent us from doing that one thing, such as working out, completing a home improvement project, or learning a new skill (in my case writing). All these and more corrupt our path to get what we want. How many times had I started making a good habit to achieve what I want, only to get derailed part way through because my routine changed. Maybe a doctor's appointment or family/friends you have not seen in some time come to town? Perhaps a change at work forces an established routine to become no longer viable (COVID-19 has done its fair share of that). 

Not to sound like a self help book, but there are always reasons - in their thousands - to not do something. 100 days was my reason to do something.

As I said before, I am pretty disciplined person. When I set to a goal, I do it with gusto. I don't like to fail, but in the end, life happens. I would come back to the goal easily enough, but getting derailed for a week or maybe a month, is costly. It feels more discouraging to start again. Sometimes, starting again means you rolled down the mountain halfway up and now have to begin from the base. Starting over hurts, delaying your goal hurts, and it all leads to being discouraged to some degree. 

What is the 100 Day Challenge?

A 100 Day Challenge is something very simple. It is a statement:

"I am going to do <insert task> every day for the next 100 days."

In my case, it has been writing. The material I am going to release next week is a result of my third 100 day challenge. The last two have taught me more and kept me more focused than the previous couple years. 

As I mentioned above, my mom introduced me to the concept. This happened last year. Without jumping into to many personal details, last year was filled with changes and was a turbulent time. Through it all, my mom mentioned she had to play her bagpipes. She would pause a visit or leave early to go about her day to fit in playing bagpipes wherever she could. I saw this and was intrigued. We had a conversation about it and it was such a simple thing to do, that I immediately adopted it. 

I was already part way into a writing project and for the first time, I was tracking my efficiency by recording how many days it took me to complete a chapter. It was not a good picture but was not a bad one. I was finding gaps in the progress but progress was still steady. Still, I did not have the consistency I thought I always had. I remember talking to people and saying, "I aim to write every day." After recording my progress for awhile, this was clearly not the case. Learning this somewhat crushed my identity a little bit, the mostly disciplined person I thought I was not the image I created in my own mind. 

Looking for any tool to build me to build the self-image I wanted to achieve, the 100 Day Challenge was my lifesaver. It has created a new norm in my life and the results have been outstanding. Since starting this practice, I have written a full manuscript in the first and edited that manuscript to a higher degree and quality than any previous attempt, in a shorter time, in the second. In my third challenge, I have written half a manuscript as well as edited it (and you will get to see the results of this third 100 day challenge next Tuesday!). All because I said, "I am going to write every day for the next 100 days."

How to do it?

I highly recommend trying this on your own and would love to hear your experiences. 

Step 1: 

Create your statement. Its that simple.

"I am going to do <insert task> every day for the next 100 days."

Step 2: 

I found the most helpful thing is record/journal your progress. 

In the first couple, I was recording when benchmarks were completed, such as a chapter written or a editing stage done. But in the third challenge I began to record my progress daily and this has been by far the most motivating. I have gotten to see my word count grow and my workflow in a much greater degree. Plus it feels great putting down that forward progress and gives some self accountability, by seeing what can be accomplished on a busy day where you have work, appointments, and other obligations - versus a day where you have the full time to yourself. Also its much harder to find the time for your task when life gets in the way if you have a record of time invested. On the days I did not feel like writing after working a long day or wanting to meet up with friends/family at the end of the week, I felt guilty and found time to throw down a few words because if I recorded a blank day in the middle, it would have made the previous days feel less valuable. Also nothing is more sexy and fun than making an excel spreadsheet.

Step 3: 

Be open about your challenge to those in your life. 

Even though you will always get the guilt to do other things, being open and honest about your challenge will motivate others around you to encourage you, especially when you are deep in. In the past, I always found it hard to say no when I wanted to do something else, like go to a movie with my cousins or hang out and paint models with my friends. Telling them about the 100 day challenge and my goal, encouraged friends and family not to give me a hung amount of guilt when I said I would be a little later than expected for an engagement. In my experience, you will still receive some peer pressure, but its easier for you and others to forgive when you explain that this NEEDS to happen before you can make it out. 

Step 4: 

Make your daily goal achievable. 

This may take some learning as you go. I would say start out with start high and then shift as necessary. For example, my original goal was to write an hour a day. Most days this was achievable; others, due to life's surprises, was not. So the goal became write an hour a day whenever possible and on days with surprises, write as much as you can - just 15 minutes if need be. Now on my third challenge, I aimed for a minimum word count which has increased my productivity for those challenging days. 

Conclusion

I am going to conclude this blog in classic blunt Brett fashion after a ramble. 

100 Day Challenges are great, thanks mom. You all do one too. 

New Art - Demon

 Demon

New art today! Once again I am going to keep it simple. Story building is a few aspects for me; is keeping some surprise for those who explore it. That is the adventure as a reader, turning the corner with the characters and finding nothing or a whole new life changing event. What I will say for now, is these "Demons" play a central part in all my fantasy stories I am currently writing. I hope you enjoy the piece. It was a fun to make! It will also be showing up on the blog's side bar right away after I make a few more tweaks.

As I am exploring the journey up to this point to a certain degree. I felt it best to show off the original concept of these "Demons" and show how it compares to the new. Its been a long road and improvement in my drawing, but its always fun to look back to see how styles change and skills improve. Seems like another lifetime ago! This was drawn about 5 years ago, so in some ways, it was another lifetime!

Let me know what you think! 

Thanks as always,

Brett