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fantasy stories
by evergreen Mon Oct 18, 2010 4:35 pm
here i will collect everything about fantasy stories ..
even how to write a fantasy story , fantasy story generator !
and books too !!
..........
but first i will begin with a full stories i found in internet , adding the site link so as u can read more stories from its official website
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The Warden of Jestabel Zee
"You should desire more," said Amalinda.
She was the wife. Cyrus had inherited her from his brother,who was a warrior, and who was very tall, and very handsome, and verystrong, and very dead.
"Why?" said Cyrus.
"It is foolish to be less than you can be," said Amalinda. "Your brother always said so."
"Yes," said Cyrus. "I heard him. Many times."
What Cyrus desired was for his wife to be happier. And whycould she not? They had seven children, all variously apprenticed inthe Standing City.
And they had all the fish they could eat, courtesyof the Espereeding River. On top of that, they were neither of themdead. So what more could they wish for?
Cyrus Aplin was the Warden. That is, he had the job ofguarding the ruins of Jestabel Zee.
He had not asked for it; rather, itwas hereditary, so he had no choice. He had inherited the job from hisfather and the wife from his brother, and each day he praised theLiving Sun for preserving his sister's life for yet another twenty-fourhours. The day that Big Sister died, Cyrus would inevitably inherit thetwenty-seven ghosts which haunted her, none of them particularlypleasant to know.
Anyway -
On a certain day in the month of Kestor Tabrentis, there was a scream. Who screamed? Why, Amalinda.
Hearing the scream, Cyrus stood up slowly - when you have abad back you never do anything quickly, regardless of the pressures ofthe situation. At the time, he was busy tending his broccoliplantation, which consisted of three rather spindly plants justdownstream from the fishtrap. He looked in the direction of the scream,and saw his brother approaching.
No, not his brother.
His brother was still soundly dead.
This was a different warrior - or, rather, Warrior.
"Hello there," said the Warrior, looking down from the height of his horse.
Amalinda sat behind the Warrior on the horse, lookingshaken. She was bleeding from the scalp where a tuft of her hair hadbeen torn out.
"Well," said Cyrus, rubbing the back of his neck.
He always did it unthinkingly, and his wife always chidedhim, because he got dirt on the collar of his work shirt, and he wasnot the one who had to wash it. But on this occasion she said nothing,nothing at all.
Sayingnothing more himself, Cyrus took stock of the Warrior, and of theWarrior's entourage, which consisted of two very large executionersmounted upon water buffalo, some armored guards mounted on massiveshire horses, a gaggle of clerks traveling on foot, a three-legged dogwith a big grin on its face, and a man on a donkey who wore a nameplatewhich proclaimed him to be one Treasurer Vine.
"Well," said Cyrus, again, nobody else seeming disposed to speak. "What can I do for you?"
"I," said the Warrior, still on his horse and still looking down, "am Lombreth Korengesh Nalay."
"I see," said Cyrus, choosing not to mention the matter ofhis wife, who was in such a state of shock that she, plainly, had notyet realized that there was blood trickling down her face.
"And I'mCyrus Aplin. It's a nice day for fly fishing, isn't it?"
"I," said Lombreth Korengesh, totally ignoring the flyfishing suggestion, "am the Warrior Lord of Uplan Esh, and I seek theWarden of Jestabel Zee."
"Found," said Cyrus.
"Pardon?" said Lombreth Korengesh.
"I am the person you seek," said Cyrus. "I suppose you have come for the Bubble of Wish."
"Exactly," said Lombreth Korengesh. "I seek to become thewarrior of warriors, the sword of swords. Which torture do you prefer?"
"None is necessary," said Cyrus. "The Bubble is in that bamboo shed over there."
"You shouldn't just tell me that!" said Lombreth Korengesh,scandalized. "You should hold out, even in the face of torture. Youshould force me to do all kinds of hideous things to the naked flesh ofthis woman of yours before you even dream of disclosing the whereaboutsof the treasure you guard."
"I know I should," said Cyrus. "But I choose not to."
"Then what kind of Warden are you?" said Lombreth Korengesh, frowning.
"A cowardly one, my lord," said Cyrus.
"Or perhaps a tricky one," said Treasurer Vine. "It may notbe the real Bubble at all. We should torture him anyway. On principle."
And the Treasurer licked his lips, which were thin and dry. He looked as if he was hungry.
"Or, my lord," said Cyrus, doing his best to ignore theTreasurer, who was making him uneasy, "you could sleep here tonight.The bubble will begin to work your wishes overnight."
"What I wish," said Lombreth Korengesh, "is to become the warrior of warriors."
But Cyrus knew that already.
His brother had ventured exactly the same wish.
Only Cyrus's brother, to his credit, had not used theBubble to fulfill his own ends. Rather, Brother Neebringer had achievedhis own death through his own unaided efforts.
"Well," said Cyrus, "the sun isn't getting any younger, is it? Let me fetch you the Bubble."
*LombrethKorengesh held the Bubble in his hands. In outward appearance, it wasvery like a soap bubble - a soap bubble the size of your head, withiridescent patches of rainbow glinting on its surface. It wastransparent. You could see right through it.
But it was uncommonlyheavy. Almost too heavy to hold.
The Warrior held the Bubble and wished.
The waters of the Espereeding River splintered briefly intorainbows. The abandoned cicada husks clinging to the autumn trees sangshrill and briefly for a breath and a half. The captured woman gasped,as if touched unexpectedly in an unexpected place.
Apart from that, nothing seemed to happen, except thatthe three-legged dog, which had been tagging along behind LombrethKorengesh for the last week and a half, growled and backed off, itstail between its legs.
"There," said Cyrus. "You have your wish."
*
"I am not satisfied that the wish has worked," said Lombreth Korengesh. "I wish to stay for a few days and see what happens."
"My lord," said Cyrus, "you are welcome to take the Bubble with you."
Cyrus Aplin knew it was irresponsible to let the Bubble outin the world, but, to tell the truth, he was really worried aboutTreasurer Vine. That was one nasty piece of work, and Cyrus wanted himout of the neighborhood as soon as possible.
"I will stay," said Lombreth Korengesh, in tones ofdecision. "I will stay, and, if I am not satisfied, I will skin thewoman alive. Do you oppose my will?"
"With respect, my lord," said Cyrus, "the woman has had seven children."
"I could have guessed as much," said the Warrior, withcontempt. "I took her because she has skin and because I have a knifewhich is made for the removal of skin. For that purpose and no other.Surely you are not fool enough to think that you could possess anythingwhich I might desire?"
"I desire the life of my habits, my lord," said Cyrus,speaking the truth, and nothing but the truth. "But my lord speakstruly when he says that nothing of mine could be worthy of hisdesiring. Yet - if I can be of assistance to my lord ... the guesthouse is over there."
"That?" said Lombreth Korengesh, looking at the ricketyshed Cyrus was indicating. "No. I will sleep tonight in the StonePalace. It is still in good repair, is it not?"
"It is, my lord," said Cyrus, "but it is haunted by a ghost with no hands."
"No worries," said Lombreth Korengesh. "That's why I havethe three-legged dog. A three-legged dog is more than a match for ahandless ghost."
"My lord jests," said Cyrus, and did his best to laugh,though the laugh came out with difficulty. because he was most terriblyworried about Amalinda, who, under threat, was no longer just the wife,but his wife. His. No longer his brother's, no, after seven children,no.
Cyrus thought he knew what would happen next.
But, if it did not, he would kill this Lombreth Korengesh himself. Or join Brother Neebringer. Die trying.
"I am, after all," said Cyrus, throat dry, mouth dry, tongue stuck to his teeth, "my father's son."
And the pain of speaking, the pain of existing, the pain ofbeing himself in his own skin, was so much for the moment that, for themoment, he said nothing more.
*
That night, Lombreth Korengesh slept badly.
Blood.
There was blood in his dreams. There were claws. There wasa scream. He thrashed awake, the scream his own, and screamed again forthe claws were at his throat. Jaws snarled, a rape-weight smotheredhim, and desperate he clutched and clawed, finding thick limbs cold andgigantic.
Then armored guards smashed through the lightweight door. Wood splintering, lamplight gleaming on -
Smoke bruising and boiling, and blood, blood, gouts andsheets of red blood red, blood spurting and thrashing, the bed awash,and Lombreth Korengesh -
Alive?
He was alive, and the thing which had attacked him wasgone, boiled away to smoke. Gone. But the stench of it remained. Andthe blood? Everywhere. Clotting already, turning green, turning black,settling in lumps, filth, mire, stink, a nightmare of goo he couldtouch, prod, poke, palpate.
"My lord?"
This from one of the guards, a thing of metal, iron shins,iron knees, iron thighs, iron cuirass, iron skull, iron armsbrandishing blood-blazing steel. But a man within the thing. Surely?Surely!
Lombreth Korengesh wanted to weep, to cry, to give way toshock, to collapse to a quivering heap. To be held, to be comforted.But these were soldiers, and he was what he was, so hold tight for themoment, hold tight and -
"Search!" said Lombreth Korengesh, managing that oneword. Spitting it out. Fast, tight, fierce. Voice near breaking withthe strain. Deep breath, deep breath now, and:
"Some blood-sucking thing was here! Find it! Kill it!Men, lights, dogs, the lot. What was it? How did it get here? Where didit go? I have to know!"
So the men searched, sought, looked, hunted. All to noavail. They found no footprints. The dogs picked up no scents. No doorsor shutters had been tampered with. But the blood was still there,blood everywhere in Lombreth Korengesh's room, and he himself wasunwounded so it couldn't be his.
"Right," he said grimly, toward dawn. "Tear apart the walls. And the ceiling! I want it taken apart, the lot."
By dawn this had been done. What was left of the StonePalace had been reduced to rubble. Broken lathe and ruptured plaster.Dust layered on coagulated blood. But walls and ceiling, thoughfragile, had proved honest.
"The floor, then," said Lombreth Korengesh. "Dig up the floor."
And they did.
Finding rock, rock, solid rock, unbroken granite, and whenhe had this rock itself wrenched up there was solid mortar beneath, ageneration old if it was a day.
By which time it was mid-morning, and Lombreth Korengesh was reeling with exhaustion, feeling nearly disembodied.
"A succubus," he said, deciding. "That's what it was. Arape-spirit. A thing of meat-lust. Bleeding from its desire, no doubt,but appetite strong regardless."
He sat up all that day and went to sleep that night with lanterns burning and armed guards posted round his bed.
And in the night -
*
Cyrus heard the screams in the night, the sounds of battle.Cautious, as ever, of his back, he hobbled out into the night.
"Amalinda!"
She came to his voice, weeping. Came into his arms.Collapsed in his arms - and the weight of her was too much for him, andover they went, the pair of them. For a moment - for more than amoment, in fact - Cyrus thought he had put his back out again.
"My love."
Which of them spoke?
There was no saying.
*
In the morning, Cyrus checked on the bodies. They were alldead. The Warrior as dead as the others. And Cyrus let the EspereedingRiver have the bodies.
"I don't understand," said the ghost of Treasurer Vine,coming that night in search of an explanation, waking Cyrus from hisbed of sacks and spiderwebs. "I really don't understand. Whathappened?"
"Simple enough," said Cyrus. "Lombreth Korengesh wantedto become the ultimate warrior, so he became one. He killed everything.First, he murdered sleep, and the rest followed."
"And you?" said Treasurer Vine. "What do you wish for?"
"My only wish is to sleep well at nights," said Cyrus. "And to be untroubled by ghosts after midnight."
There was more to it than that, of course, but the more wasthe property of Cyrus and the wife - the wife who had become his wife -and Cyrus had no thought of sharing it with Treasurer Vine, dead oralive.
"I have just one more question," said Treasurer Vine.
"Speak," said Cyrus.
But it was then that the silence chimed midnight,soundlessly, and the ghost vanished, and Cyrus went back to sleep.Amalinda slept beside him, and so did the three-legged dog. Amalindadreamt (dreams come as they may, with or without the consent of thevolitional mind) of Brother Neebringer, who was very tall, and veryhandsome, and very strong, and had a smile as bright as sunlight on thewaterfall, the waterfall of her desire.
And the three-legged dog slept beside them, dreaming ofbrown sugar and of sirloin steak. And of really, really slow cats withbells and budgerigars tied to their tails.
The End
evergreen- الجنس :
عدد المساهمات : 1497
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تاريخ التسجيل : 2010-02-03 -
Re: fantasy stories
by evergreen Mon Oct 18, 2010 4:44 pm
Invasion of the Chickens
"What are you doing?" said Sharla the Swordswoman.
"I'm making plum brandy," said Vorn the Gladiator.
And he was, too. He was using a traditional recipe muchfavored by the fighting men of the city of Chi'ash-lan. Take a handfulof dried plums. Add as much raw alcohol as it takes to drown a rat.
Stir thoroughly. Wait for as much time as it would take for a rat toactually drown. Then drink.
"What are you doing here?" said Sharla. "Here. Now. That was what I meant."
"Where else would I be?" said Vorn.
"At Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem," said Sharla, intoning the holy name of the Sacred Grave of the Fossilized Mole.
"And what would I be doing there?" said Vorn.
"You know perfectly well," said Sharla.
And Vorn did. According to the ancient prophecy of Tambris,today was the day on which the Karshagrin Chronoclivity, a fracture inthe space-time continuum, would open at Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem.
" ... upon which the City of Chi'ash-lan will be invadedby a monstrous regiment of Chickens, against which the mightiest ofheroes will struggle in vain.
Then will the City know the Rule of theChicken. To the service of the Chicken will women bow. The Tyranthimself will dedicate his days to the happiness of the Chicken. TheChicken will he feed and the Chicken's droppings will he cleanse away.
Yea, even the Tyrant! He will laugh when the Chicken is happy and weepwhen the Chicken is sad. And the City of Chi'ash-lan will be weakenedby the Worship of the Chicken, and war will follow, and the City willbe defeated by the Thogess of Naunt, and will bow to her milk inHumiliated Service, and will offer unto Her the Homage and the Tributeshe demands."
Vorn knew all that.
But.
"Vorn the Gladiator does not venture forth to do battlewith chickens," said Vorn firmly. "That is not what Vorn the Gladiatoris all about."
"It's beneath your dignity, you mean," said Sharla.
"Exactly."
"But the whole city is in a panic. They need you, Vorn. Youare our hero. Our slayer of dragons. You are the one who hunted downthe koala, who dared the emu in its lair. Three times you played icehockey, yet survived. This is a time of fear. And, in times of fear,the people need a hero."
It was true about the fear. The greatest name in prophecywas Tambris, and, down through the generations, not once had Tambrisever been wrong. In anticipation of an invasion of chickens, manypeople had fled the city. Many of those who had stayed were taking thesackcloth and ashes route, doing penance to atone for past sins. And anunfortunate chicken farmer had actually been lynched as a suspectedenemy agent.
"Very well," said Vorn, with a sigh. "I will gird my loins and venture forth against the dread enemy."
And he did so, albeit with reluctance. His reason was notfear but scepticism. As far as Vorn was concerned, most prophecy wasjust so much meaningless mumbo-jumbo. Privately, he believed thepriests had probably rewritten history to make Tambris look moreprophetic than he actually was. The last thing Vorn expected was abreach of the space-time continuum, whatever that might be.
However, on schedule the Karshagrin Chronoclivity splitopen at Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem. The World We Know broke open with adiamond-splintering shriek, revealing a lurid orange fracture as wideas a river and as tall as the sky.
"Okay, okay," said Vorn, trying to suppress the lizardsof fear which were doing somersaults in his unsteady bowels. "Thenwhere are these chickens?"
And, gripping the great sword Zaftig in his two sweatyhands, Vorn prepared to do battle with an army of supernaturalchickens.
"If my courage fails today," he said, "then cut my hair and feed my bones to parrots."
However, it was not chickens who came forth from theKarshagrin Chronoclivity but people. They were duly interviewed byMaple Pajora, the High Priest of the Cult of Applied Semantics, whodetermined that they were refugees from the Thrastolian Bazaar, a lostcivilization which had been destroyed several thousand years earlier bya particularly aggressive meteor shower.
"There are thousands of them," said Maple Pajora. "Thousands and thousands. What are we going to do?"
"Sell them as slaves, one imagines," said Vorn.
And that was exactly what happened. Not that the refugeesmade very good slaves. None of the women knew the first thing aboutspinning or weaving, and none of the men could so much as shear asheep. So they were sold in bulk to the Metal Mind which ruled EngorHab, the seaport city state which had recently lost 75.94% of itspopulation to the Black Death, and consequently was not too fussy abouthow it repopulated itself.
So far, so good.
And, when the Karshagrin Chronoclivity healed itself, itseemed that the prophecy had been disproved. Vorn went off to themountains for his annual training camp, and thought no more about it.Until Sharla the Swordwoman came to see him.
"What are you doing here?" said Vorn in alarm. "You know women - "
"Can't come to the training camp," said Sharla, kissing him. "But this is an emergency."
Then she showed Vorn a box. It was made of plastic, asubstance Vorn recognised from his days amongst the Ceramic Vampires.One surface of the box was, recognizably, a kind of television screen.The array of pimply buttons on the side undoubtedly constituted acontrol panel.
"What do you think this is?" said Sharla.
"It is a TV," said Vorn, taking the box. "It is a packageof tricks which shows you things at a distance. We live, you know, on aplanet which is round, like an orange. Overhead there are very cleverthings made of bright copper, which the Ceramic Vampires callsatellites. They show pictures of the weather. The satellites, I mean,not the vampires. If you have a TV, you can see the weather, you know.And commercials, too, though I never did quite understand aboutcommercials."
Vorn was getting excited, as he always did when hestarted talking about the Ceramic Vampires. It was one of hisweaknesses. While people were generally too polite to talk about itopenly, it was generally known that Vorn had been brainwashed by theCVs, who had filled his head with an enormous amount of dizzy nonsenseabout space, time and the universe.
Fortunately, the city of Chi'ash-lan had very goodtherapists, who could rectify even severe mental aberrations with someapplied leather and iron.
Consequently, Vorn usually kept quiet abouthis delusions. However, at certain moments he forgot himself, and thiswas one of them.
"It is not a television, whatever that is," said Sharla. "It is a chicken."
"A chicken?" said Vorn.
"A chicken," affirmed Sharla.
"No," said Vorn. "You are wrong. A chicken is a bird. Ithas two legs and two wings. It can fly, though not very well. It isgood to eat, and for that purpose it is raised. That box is not achicken."
"Oh no?" said Sharla. "Watch this." And she pressed acouple of buttons. In response, a picture of a chicken came to life onthe screen. "See?" said Sharla, handing the box back to Vorn.
"That is not a chicken," said Vorn, vexed by Sharla'sbackwardness. "It is merely a picture of a chicken projected onto aminiature TV screen by mechanisms far too complex for your womanly headto possibly understand."
"Am too a chicken," said the chicken.
Vorn was so surprised he dropped the box.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" wailed the chicken. "You dropped me, you dropped me! Pick me up, pick me up!"
Guiltily, Vorn picked up the chicken.
"I'm hungry," said the chicken. "Feed me, feed me."
"I can't feed you," said Vorn. "You're a TV image, you're not a real chicken, you can't eat worms and stuff."
"The blue button! The blue button!" said the chicken. "Press the blue button! It's flashing! Press it to feed me!"
True enough, the blue button was flashing.
Vorn's thumb,hugely callused by his labors with the sword, moved toward the button.Then he restrained himself.
"No," he said.
"No?" said the chicken. "But I'll die!"
"Die, then," said Vorn, ruthlessly.
"You're cruel!" said the chicken.
"Of course I'm cruel!" said Vorn. "I'm a gladiator!"
"But I'm hungry," said the chicken. "It's so easy for youto feed me. Then I'll be happy, I'll be happy, really I will. I'lldance and sing, I'll worship you, I'll tell you happy stories, I'll beyour friend forever and a day."
Then Vorn was moved. He wanted, more than anything else,to press that blue button. To make the chicken happy. But he restrainedhimself. And, before his eyes, the chicken sickened, sunk into death,then dissolved in perishing decay. Leaving Vorn feeling an absurd butineradicable sense of guilt.
The little screen was now showing a purple egg.
"Hatch me! Hatch me!" said the egg, vibrating enthusiastically. "Press the purple button to hatch me!"
Vorn was moved to obey. He restrained himself - but it tookan effort. And his was a will of iron. With a sense of foreboding, heturned to Sharla.
"Is this the one and only chicken?" said Vorn.
"No."
"Then," said Vorn, "just how many of these things are there?"
"Thousands," said Sharla. "Thousands and thousands and thousands."
It turned out that the refugees who had come through theKarshagrin Chronoclivity had possessed these chickens by the score.Naturally, the refugees had been plundered naked before being sent intoforeign slavery, and thus the chickens had come into the possession ofthe people of Chi'ash-lan.
"At first, the chickens couldn't speak our language,"said Sharla. "But they learnt very quickly. They talk to each other, itseems."
"Talk?" said Vorn. Then, hypothesizing, "At a distance?"
"It seems so," said Sharla. "What one chicken knows, all know."
"And?" said Vorn. "How fares the fair city of Chi'ash-lan?"
"It is as the prophecy predicted," said Sharla grimly. "Only worse."
Returning to the city of Chi'ash-lan, Vorn found it wasworse indeed. Not only had the Tyrant become the voluntary slave of hispersonal chicken but Nazoora Petal, too, had surrendered to theinvading monsters.
"You must fight against them!" said Vorn.
"But they're so cute," said Nazoora Petal. "Who could possibly resist something so cute?"
Vorn could. But, even for him, it was an uphill struggle tomaintain his free will and independence. And the rest of the city? Adisaster. Apprentices no longer labored, but played with their chickensinstead. Slaves covertly raised their chickens in secret, despite anemergency law which had been passed to deny the privilege ofchicken-keeping to slaves. Even the keepers of real chickens hadabandoned their feathered charges to look after the incorporealsubstitutes. If rumor was to be believed, honeymooning couples nolonger went about the necessary business of propagating the species,but sat up all night comparing chickens instead.
Worst of all, the allure of the chickens was so greatthat the gladiatorial games themselves had to be canceled. The peoplewould rather stay at home pressing buttons to cleanse away thephantasmal droppings of their chickens.
"Plainly," said Vorn, "if this goes on, then civilization as we know it will shortly cease to exist."
That was a self-evident truth.
And, in this time of emergency, Maple Pajora, the HighPriest of the Cult of Applied Semantics, stepped forward to announce amessage from the gods.
"This curse has fallen upon us because we have forgottenthe true meaning of life," said Maple Pajora. "It has been revealed tome that the true meaning of life exists now at the core of a goldenwalnut in the entre of the Temple of the Silver Skull in the Citadel ofNaunt. If our city is to be saved, that golden walnut must be broughtto Chi-ash'lan and its inner truth revealed."
Now, Vorn the Gladiator was far from persuaded by thisrevelation. To start with, he firmly believed that the purpose of lifewas self-evident. The purpose of life is to drink beer, cuddle womenand kill people. When you are a gladiator you know stuff like that.
But Vorn had the misfortune to be a hero. And,consequently, he found that people expected him to march on Naunt andwrest the Golden Walnut from the Temple.
"Grant me then the command of the army," said Vorn to the Tyrant, "and I will do what is necessary."
The army having been duly granted, Vorn marched forth. And,news of his advance having gone in advance of him, a countervailingarmy marched forth from Naunt, stationed itself on the far bank of theDry River and made ready for battle.
Now, Vorn the Gladiator was no fool. He could see thatthe Dry River was a formidable obstacle, an obstacle potent against hiselephants, his crocodiles and his highly-trained troupes of fightingkangaroos.
"Very well," said Vorn. "This is what we will do.
We willsend false spies to the enemy camp with news that my army has deserted.In the morning, I will march to the edge of the river with a small bandof heroes. But I will not cross the river itself. Instead, the forcesof Naunt will cross the Dry River and fall upon us in fury. Then thetrue weight of my army will descend upon them from the Golden Heightsand sweep them away to defeat and ruin."
A simple plan, but Vorn was confident it would work. As, apparently, did others.
"An excellent plan," said Maple Pajora, the High Priest ofthe Cult of Applied Semantics, stroking his glossy green beard andsmiling.
That night: thunder. In the distance: stormclouds.Somewhere upriver, rain was falling. As the bulk of Vorn's armywithdrew under cover of darkness, imitating treasonous desertion, Vornbegan to worry.
The Dry River had the reputation for filling withextreme speed, producing the most monstrous flash floods. There was thedanger that it would fill overnight, and all his planning come tonothing. The last thing he wanted was for a raging river to separatehim from his enemies.
But, in the sullen and thunderous dawn, the river provedto be still dry. The bulk of Vorn's army having vanished, Vorn himselfventured forward with his small band of heroes. And the forces ofNaunt, thinking him vulnerable, surged across the Dry River andattacked.
"Okay," said Vorn, looking back to the Golden Heights, where his army should now appear.
No army.
Something had gone wrong.
What?
A memory flashed bright in Vorn's mind. Maple Pajora,stroking his green beard. Of course! The prestige of the priests wasall tied up with their ability to accurately predict the future. Theprophecies of Tambris called for the forces of Naunt to prevail,therefore a victory in Naunt's favor must be arranged.
"Treason!" said Vorn. "Bloody treachery and treason! By the Feathers of the Chicken, he will suffer for this!"
Then Vorn had no more time to think about Maple Pajora, for the forces of Naunt were upon him.
Vorn fought well, but it was useless. His pitiful force wassoon overcome, and Vorn himself was bound with leather thongs anddragged before the Thogess of Naunt, who was mounted in grandeur upon arichly caparisoned platypus.
"You have disappointed me," said the Thogess coldly. "I had thought you would do better."
"I had thought so myself," said Vorn. "How about letting me go? Then we could do this all over again. Tomorrow."
"I would if I could," said the Thogess. "But,unfortunately, our conventions of battle do not so permit. To thedefeated commander: death. Cut off his head!"
So spake the Thogess of Naunt. And her executioner raisedhis sword. And thunder spoke. A bolt of lightning smote theexecutioner's sword. The executioner crashed from his horse and toppledto the ground in an incinerated heap. The Thogess of Naunt gave onegreat scorched scream of shocked panic, and her platypus reared up andthrew her to the ground. A second bolt of lightning struck dead herchief eunuch, and a third killed the leader of her palace guard.
Seeing catastrophe strike their leader, the army of Nauntturned tail and fled. Bolt after bolt of lightning accelerated theirflight. The routed army filled the riverbed of the Dry River with afrenzied sea of scrambling panic. Then, when the riverbed was full offleeing soldiers, the boiling yellow maelstrom of a flash flood camecrashing into sight.
"My lord," said a slave, cutting Vorn free. "My lord. You have need of this."
"Thank you," said Vorn, taking the sword which was handed to him.
And there was Vorn, the victorious conqueror of theThogess. No force opposed him. His enemies were drowning by their tensof thousands in the turbulent waters of the Dry River. A few strayslaves were gathering round, weapons in hand, eager to serve theconquering hero.
"My lord," said the Thogess, kneeling in the mud to kiss Vorn's feet. "You have conquered me."
"No, not at all," said Vorn.
"What?"
"You have achieved a mighty victory," said Vorn.
"What are you talking about?" said the Thogess, bewildered.
"You've won," said Vorn, with a happy smile on his face. "Ifought hard, but, yes, you got the better of me, I freely admit it."
"Don't be absurd," said the Thogess. "It is you who havemastered me. You will bear me back in chains to your city in chains,and there I will - well, you know the rest of it."
"Unfortunately," said Vorn, "a prophecy holds otherwise,and prophecy cannot be denied. The wisdom of Tambris is never wrong,and it is not wrong now. The Thogess of Naunt has defeated the forcesof Chi'ash-lan, and now Chi'ash-lan must render up the Tribute shedemands."
"You don't seem to understand," said the Thogess,starting to get a bit desperate. "The Thogess rules for a brief threeyears, then the high priests sacrifice her on the altar of Dinibishnov.I have been Thogess already for two years and six months. That was whyI crossed the river even though I knew there was a flash flood coming.I thought it might solve my problem. You do see my problem, don't you?"
"Yeah, I see it," said Vorn. "Okay. Let's sit down and negotiate. Maybe there might be a way out of this."
Shortly thereafter, Vorn returned to Chi'ash-lan. There,the people were surprised to see him, for Maple Pajora, the High Priestof the Cult of Applied Semantics, had already declared Vorn to be dead.According to Maple Pajora, Vorn the Gladiator had been struck down bylightning. On seeing him thus killed, Vorn's army had turned tail andhad fled, rather than appearing on cue on the Golden Heights.
"It is true," said Vorn, who was careful never to sayanything which might serve to undermine Established Religion. "I waskilled indeed, and only stand before you today because the Thogess ofNaunt has resurrected me to do her will."
If anyone had entertained notions of opposing the will ofthe Thogess, such notions immediately vanished. The Thogess could notonly command thunder and lightning to fight on her side. She could alsowork miracles and resurrect the dead. There was no opposing such awonder-worker.
Then the demands of the Thogess of Naunt were deliveredunto the city of Chi'ash-lan by Vorn the Gladiator. The victoriousThogess demanded that every incorporeal chicken in the city be renderedup to her as tribute.
Then was there a great gnashing of teeth and a wailing ofmany voices and a rending of clothes. But, as Vorn kept explaining,defeat is defeat, and the humiliations of defeat must be endured.
"And now," said Vorn, once all the chickens had been senton their way to Naunt, "I wish to have a private audience with MaplePajora, our much-beloved High Priest of the Cult of Applied Semantics."
Maple Pajora wrote his Last Will and Testament before hewent to that private audience. But, much to his own surprise, heemerged from the audience alive, if not smiling.
Two days later, Maple Pajora announced to the astonishedcity of Chi'ash-lan that he had just discovered a previously unknownprophecy of Tambris in the city archives.
The prophecy stated that a defeated hero would redeemhimself by leading a mighty army against Naunt. And Naunt would bowdown before his approach, and, in despair, would burn all its chickensin a great bonfire. And the Thogess of Naunt would be delivered up tothe hero as his personal captive, and with her there would come toChi'ash-lan a golden walnut containing the secret of life, which wouldhave prove to have something to do with the consumption of largequantities of beer and the enjoyment of the friendship of many women.
"Does this mean what I think it means?" said Sharla the Swordswoman angrily.
"I'm afraid it does," said Vorn, "but I don't have anychoice in the matter. I am but an ignorant gladiator, and my life isirrevocably conditioned by the tyranny of religion and the unalterableburdens of prophecy."
"That doesn't alter the fact that polygamy is politically incorrect," said Sharla.
"Politically incorrect?" said Vorn, puzzled.
"Political correctness," said Sharla, "is a revealed truth to which I was introduced by my chicken."
And Vorn, with a dismayed foreboding, realized then that achicken banished is not necessarily a chicken defeated, and that theevil a chicken does may live on long after that chicken's mortal end.
The End
official site of the two stories
http://zenvirus.com/succubus/index.html
THE SUCCUBUS AND OTHER STORIES
Thefull texts of 30 of the 65 stories in THE SUCCUBUS AND OTHER STORIESare online here. These are high-quality literary stories, a mixture offantasy, science fiction, horror and the bizarre. These stories arehosted by Hugh Cook on his sites zenvirus.com and hughcook.com.
These text stories are written for a mature audience and oftendeal with adult themes. Sensitive souls (those of you who had troublegetting through your first autopsy) may find the content disturbing,offensive and far too close to the bone.
"What are you doing?" said Sharla the Swordswoman.
"I'm making plum brandy," said Vorn the Gladiator.
And he was, too. He was using a traditional recipe muchfavored by the fighting men of the city of Chi'ash-lan. Take a handfulof dried plums. Add as much raw alcohol as it takes to drown a rat.
Stir thoroughly. Wait for as much time as it would take for a rat toactually drown. Then drink.
"What are you doing here?" said Sharla. "Here. Now. That was what I meant."
"Where else would I be?" said Vorn.
"At Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem," said Sharla, intoning the holy name of the Sacred Grave of the Fossilized Mole.
"And what would I be doing there?" said Vorn.
"You know perfectly well," said Sharla.
And Vorn did. According to the ancient prophecy of Tambris,today was the day on which the Karshagrin Chronoclivity, a fracture inthe space-time continuum, would open at Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem.
" ... upon which the City of Chi'ash-lan will be invadedby a monstrous regiment of Chickens, against which the mightiest ofheroes will struggle in vain.
Then will the City know the Rule of theChicken. To the service of the Chicken will women bow. The Tyranthimself will dedicate his days to the happiness of the Chicken. TheChicken will he feed and the Chicken's droppings will he cleanse away.
Yea, even the Tyrant! He will laugh when the Chicken is happy and weepwhen the Chicken is sad. And the City of Chi'ash-lan will be weakenedby the Worship of the Chicken, and war will follow, and the City willbe defeated by the Thogess of Naunt, and will bow to her milk inHumiliated Service, and will offer unto Her the Homage and the Tributeshe demands."
Vorn knew all that.
But.
"Vorn the Gladiator does not venture forth to do battlewith chickens," said Vorn firmly. "That is not what Vorn the Gladiatoris all about."
"It's beneath your dignity, you mean," said Sharla.
"Exactly."
"But the whole city is in a panic. They need you, Vorn. Youare our hero. Our slayer of dragons. You are the one who hunted downthe koala, who dared the emu in its lair. Three times you played icehockey, yet survived. This is a time of fear. And, in times of fear,the people need a hero."
It was true about the fear. The greatest name in prophecywas Tambris, and, down through the generations, not once had Tambrisever been wrong. In anticipation of an invasion of chickens, manypeople had fled the city. Many of those who had stayed were taking thesackcloth and ashes route, doing penance to atone for past sins. And anunfortunate chicken farmer had actually been lynched as a suspectedenemy agent.
"Very well," said Vorn, with a sigh. "I will gird my loins and venture forth against the dread enemy."
And he did so, albeit with reluctance. His reason was notfear but scepticism. As far as Vorn was concerned, most prophecy wasjust so much meaningless mumbo-jumbo. Privately, he believed thepriests had probably rewritten history to make Tambris look moreprophetic than he actually was. The last thing Vorn expected was abreach of the space-time continuum, whatever that might be.
However, on schedule the Karshagrin Chronoclivity splitopen at Malfri Daldo Kobri Jem. The World We Know broke open with adiamond-splintering shriek, revealing a lurid orange fracture as wideas a river and as tall as the sky.
"Okay, okay," said Vorn, trying to suppress the lizardsof fear which were doing somersaults in his unsteady bowels. "Thenwhere are these chickens?"
And, gripping the great sword Zaftig in his two sweatyhands, Vorn prepared to do battle with an army of supernaturalchickens.
"If my courage fails today," he said, "then cut my hair and feed my bones to parrots."
However, it was not chickens who came forth from theKarshagrin Chronoclivity but people. They were duly interviewed byMaple Pajora, the High Priest of the Cult of Applied Semantics, whodetermined that they were refugees from the Thrastolian Bazaar, a lostcivilization which had been destroyed several thousand years earlier bya particularly aggressive meteor shower.
"There are thousands of them," said Maple Pajora. "Thousands and thousands. What are we going to do?"
"Sell them as slaves, one imagines," said Vorn.
And that was exactly what happened. Not that the refugeesmade very good slaves. None of the women knew the first thing aboutspinning or weaving, and none of the men could so much as shear asheep. So they were sold in bulk to the Metal Mind which ruled EngorHab, the seaport city state which had recently lost 75.94% of itspopulation to the Black Death, and consequently was not too fussy abouthow it repopulated itself.
So far, so good.
And, when the Karshagrin Chronoclivity healed itself, itseemed that the prophecy had been disproved. Vorn went off to themountains for his annual training camp, and thought no more about it.Until Sharla the Swordwoman came to see him.
"What are you doing here?" said Vorn in alarm. "You know women - "
"Can't come to the training camp," said Sharla, kissing him. "But this is an emergency."
Then she showed Vorn a box. It was made of plastic, asubstance Vorn recognised from his days amongst the Ceramic Vampires.One surface of the box was, recognizably, a kind of television screen.The array of pimply buttons on the side undoubtedly constituted acontrol panel.
"What do you think this is?" said Sharla.
"It is a TV," said Vorn, taking the box. "It is a packageof tricks which shows you things at a distance. We live, you know, on aplanet which is round, like an orange. Overhead there are very cleverthings made of bright copper, which the Ceramic Vampires callsatellites. They show pictures of the weather. The satellites, I mean,not the vampires. If you have a TV, you can see the weather, you know.And commercials, too, though I never did quite understand aboutcommercials."
Vorn was getting excited, as he always did when hestarted talking about the Ceramic Vampires. It was one of hisweaknesses. While people were generally too polite to talk about itopenly, it was generally known that Vorn had been brainwashed by theCVs, who had filled his head with an enormous amount of dizzy nonsenseabout space, time and the universe.
Fortunately, the city of Chi'ash-lan had very goodtherapists, who could rectify even severe mental aberrations with someapplied leather and iron.
Consequently, Vorn usually kept quiet abouthis delusions. However, at certain moments he forgot himself, and thiswas one of them.
"It is not a television, whatever that is," said Sharla. "It is a chicken."
"A chicken?" said Vorn.
"A chicken," affirmed Sharla.
"No," said Vorn. "You are wrong. A chicken is a bird. Ithas two legs and two wings. It can fly, though not very well. It isgood to eat, and for that purpose it is raised. That box is not achicken."
"Oh no?" said Sharla. "Watch this." And she pressed acouple of buttons. In response, a picture of a chicken came to life onthe screen. "See?" said Sharla, handing the box back to Vorn.
"That is not a chicken," said Vorn, vexed by Sharla'sbackwardness. "It is merely a picture of a chicken projected onto aminiature TV screen by mechanisms far too complex for your womanly headto possibly understand."
"Am too a chicken," said the chicken.
Vorn was so surprised he dropped the box.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" wailed the chicken. "You dropped me, you dropped me! Pick me up, pick me up!"
Guiltily, Vorn picked up the chicken.
"I'm hungry," said the chicken. "Feed me, feed me."
"I can't feed you," said Vorn. "You're a TV image, you're not a real chicken, you can't eat worms and stuff."
"The blue button! The blue button!" said the chicken. "Press the blue button! It's flashing! Press it to feed me!"
True enough, the blue button was flashing.
Vorn's thumb,hugely callused by his labors with the sword, moved toward the button.Then he restrained himself.
"No," he said.
"No?" said the chicken. "But I'll die!"
"Die, then," said Vorn, ruthlessly.
"You're cruel!" said the chicken.
"Of course I'm cruel!" said Vorn. "I'm a gladiator!"
"But I'm hungry," said the chicken. "It's so easy for youto feed me. Then I'll be happy, I'll be happy, really I will. I'lldance and sing, I'll worship you, I'll tell you happy stories, I'll beyour friend forever and a day."
Then Vorn was moved. He wanted, more than anything else,to press that blue button. To make the chicken happy. But he restrainedhimself. And, before his eyes, the chicken sickened, sunk into death,then dissolved in perishing decay. Leaving Vorn feeling an absurd butineradicable sense of guilt.
The little screen was now showing a purple egg.
"Hatch me! Hatch me!" said the egg, vibrating enthusiastically. "Press the purple button to hatch me!"
Vorn was moved to obey. He restrained himself - but it tookan effort. And his was a will of iron. With a sense of foreboding, heturned to Sharla.
"Is this the one and only chicken?" said Vorn.
"No."
"Then," said Vorn, "just how many of these things are there?"
"Thousands," said Sharla. "Thousands and thousands and thousands."
It turned out that the refugees who had come through theKarshagrin Chronoclivity had possessed these chickens by the score.Naturally, the refugees had been plundered naked before being sent intoforeign slavery, and thus the chickens had come into the possession ofthe people of Chi'ash-lan.
"At first, the chickens couldn't speak our language,"said Sharla. "But they learnt very quickly. They talk to each other, itseems."
"Talk?" said Vorn. Then, hypothesizing, "At a distance?"
"It seems so," said Sharla. "What one chicken knows, all know."
"And?" said Vorn. "How fares the fair city of Chi'ash-lan?"
"It is as the prophecy predicted," said Sharla grimly. "Only worse."
Returning to the city of Chi'ash-lan, Vorn found it wasworse indeed. Not only had the Tyrant become the voluntary slave of hispersonal chicken but Nazoora Petal, too, had surrendered to theinvading monsters.
"You must fight against them!" said Vorn.
"But they're so cute," said Nazoora Petal. "Who could possibly resist something so cute?"
Vorn could. But, even for him, it was an uphill struggle tomaintain his free will and independence. And the rest of the city? Adisaster. Apprentices no longer labored, but played with their chickensinstead. Slaves covertly raised their chickens in secret, despite anemergency law which had been passed to deny the privilege ofchicken-keeping to slaves. Even the keepers of real chickens hadabandoned their feathered charges to look after the incorporealsubstitutes. If rumor was to be believed, honeymooning couples nolonger went about the necessary business of propagating the species,but sat up all night comparing chickens instead.
Worst of all, the allure of the chickens was so greatthat the gladiatorial games themselves had to be canceled. The peoplewould rather stay at home pressing buttons to cleanse away thephantasmal droppings of their chickens.
"Plainly," said Vorn, "if this goes on, then civilization as we know it will shortly cease to exist."
That was a self-evident truth.
And, in this time of emergency, Maple Pajora, the HighPriest of the Cult of Applied Semantics, stepped forward to announce amessage from the gods.
"This curse has fallen upon us because we have forgottenthe true meaning of life," said Maple Pajora. "It has been revealed tome that the true meaning of life exists now at the core of a goldenwalnut in the entre of the Temple of the Silver Skull in the Citadel ofNaunt. If our city is to be saved, that golden walnut must be broughtto Chi-ash'lan and its inner truth revealed."
Now, Vorn the Gladiator was far from persuaded by thisrevelation. To start with, he firmly believed that the purpose of lifewas self-evident. The purpose of life is to drink beer, cuddle womenand kill people. When you are a gladiator you know stuff like that.
But Vorn had the misfortune to be a hero. And,consequently, he found that people expected him to march on Naunt andwrest the Golden Walnut from the Temple.
"Grant me then the command of the army," said Vorn to the Tyrant, "and I will do what is necessary."
The army having been duly granted, Vorn marched forth. And,news of his advance having gone in advance of him, a countervailingarmy marched forth from Naunt, stationed itself on the far bank of theDry River and made ready for battle.
Now, Vorn the Gladiator was no fool. He could see thatthe Dry River was a formidable obstacle, an obstacle potent against hiselephants, his crocodiles and his highly-trained troupes of fightingkangaroos.
"Very well," said Vorn. "This is what we will do.
We willsend false spies to the enemy camp with news that my army has deserted.In the morning, I will march to the edge of the river with a small bandof heroes. But I will not cross the river itself. Instead, the forcesof Naunt will cross the Dry River and fall upon us in fury. Then thetrue weight of my army will descend upon them from the Golden Heightsand sweep them away to defeat and ruin."
A simple plan, but Vorn was confident it would work. As, apparently, did others.
"An excellent plan," said Maple Pajora, the High Priest ofthe Cult of Applied Semantics, stroking his glossy green beard andsmiling.
That night: thunder. In the distance: stormclouds.Somewhere upriver, rain was falling. As the bulk of Vorn's armywithdrew under cover of darkness, imitating treasonous desertion, Vornbegan to worry.
The Dry River had the reputation for filling withextreme speed, producing the most monstrous flash floods. There was thedanger that it would fill overnight, and all his planning come tonothing. The last thing he wanted was for a raging river to separatehim from his enemies.
But, in the sullen and thunderous dawn, the river provedto be still dry. The bulk of Vorn's army having vanished, Vorn himselfventured forward with his small band of heroes. And the forces ofNaunt, thinking him vulnerable, surged across the Dry River andattacked.
"Okay," said Vorn, looking back to the Golden Heights, where his army should now appear.
No army.
Something had gone wrong.
What?
A memory flashed bright in Vorn's mind. Maple Pajora,stroking his green beard. Of course! The prestige of the priests wasall tied up with their ability to accurately predict the future. Theprophecies of Tambris called for the forces of Naunt to prevail,therefore a victory in Naunt's favor must be arranged.
"Treason!" said Vorn. "Bloody treachery and treason! By the Feathers of the Chicken, he will suffer for this!"
Then Vorn had no more time to think about Maple Pajora, for the forces of Naunt were upon him.
Vorn fought well, but it was useless. His pitiful force wassoon overcome, and Vorn himself was bound with leather thongs anddragged before the Thogess of Naunt, who was mounted in grandeur upon arichly caparisoned platypus.
"You have disappointed me," said the Thogess coldly. "I had thought you would do better."
"I had thought so myself," said Vorn. "How about letting me go? Then we could do this all over again. Tomorrow."
"I would if I could," said the Thogess. "But,unfortunately, our conventions of battle do not so permit. To thedefeated commander: death. Cut off his head!"
So spake the Thogess of Naunt. And her executioner raisedhis sword. And thunder spoke. A bolt of lightning smote theexecutioner's sword. The executioner crashed from his horse and toppledto the ground in an incinerated heap. The Thogess of Naunt gave onegreat scorched scream of shocked panic, and her platypus reared up andthrew her to the ground. A second bolt of lightning struck dead herchief eunuch, and a third killed the leader of her palace guard.
Seeing catastrophe strike their leader, the army of Nauntturned tail and fled. Bolt after bolt of lightning accelerated theirflight. The routed army filled the riverbed of the Dry River with afrenzied sea of scrambling panic. Then, when the riverbed was full offleeing soldiers, the boiling yellow maelstrom of a flash flood camecrashing into sight.
"My lord," said a slave, cutting Vorn free. "My lord. You have need of this."
"Thank you," said Vorn, taking the sword which was handed to him.
And there was Vorn, the victorious conqueror of theThogess. No force opposed him. His enemies were drowning by their tensof thousands in the turbulent waters of the Dry River. A few strayslaves were gathering round, weapons in hand, eager to serve theconquering hero.
"My lord," said the Thogess, kneeling in the mud to kiss Vorn's feet. "You have conquered me."
"No, not at all," said Vorn.
"What?"
"You have achieved a mighty victory," said Vorn.
"What are you talking about?" said the Thogess, bewildered.
"You've won," said Vorn, with a happy smile on his face. "Ifought hard, but, yes, you got the better of me, I freely admit it."
"Don't be absurd," said the Thogess. "It is you who havemastered me. You will bear me back in chains to your city in chains,and there I will - well, you know the rest of it."
"Unfortunately," said Vorn, "a prophecy holds otherwise,and prophecy cannot be denied. The wisdom of Tambris is never wrong,and it is not wrong now. The Thogess of Naunt has defeated the forcesof Chi'ash-lan, and now Chi'ash-lan must render up the Tribute shedemands."
"You don't seem to understand," said the Thogess,starting to get a bit desperate. "The Thogess rules for a brief threeyears, then the high priests sacrifice her on the altar of Dinibishnov.I have been Thogess already for two years and six months. That was whyI crossed the river even though I knew there was a flash flood coming.I thought it might solve my problem. You do see my problem, don't you?"
"Yeah, I see it," said Vorn. "Okay. Let's sit down and negotiate. Maybe there might be a way out of this."
Shortly thereafter, Vorn returned to Chi'ash-lan. There,the people were surprised to see him, for Maple Pajora, the High Priestof the Cult of Applied Semantics, had already declared Vorn to be dead.According to Maple Pajora, Vorn the Gladiator had been struck down bylightning. On seeing him thus killed, Vorn's army had turned tail andhad fled, rather than appearing on cue on the Golden Heights.
"It is true," said Vorn, who was careful never to sayanything which might serve to undermine Established Religion. "I waskilled indeed, and only stand before you today because the Thogess ofNaunt has resurrected me to do her will."
If anyone had entertained notions of opposing the will ofthe Thogess, such notions immediately vanished. The Thogess could notonly command thunder and lightning to fight on her side. She could alsowork miracles and resurrect the dead. There was no opposing such awonder-worker.
Then the demands of the Thogess of Naunt were deliveredunto the city of Chi'ash-lan by Vorn the Gladiator. The victoriousThogess demanded that every incorporeal chicken in the city be renderedup to her as tribute.
Then was there a great gnashing of teeth and a wailing ofmany voices and a rending of clothes. But, as Vorn kept explaining,defeat is defeat, and the humiliations of defeat must be endured.
"And now," said Vorn, once all the chickens had been senton their way to Naunt, "I wish to have a private audience with MaplePajora, our much-beloved High Priest of the Cult of Applied Semantics."
Maple Pajora wrote his Last Will and Testament before hewent to that private audience. But, much to his own surprise, heemerged from the audience alive, if not smiling.
Two days later, Maple Pajora announced to the astonishedcity of Chi'ash-lan that he had just discovered a previously unknownprophecy of Tambris in the city archives.
The prophecy stated that a defeated hero would redeemhimself by leading a mighty army against Naunt. And Naunt would bowdown before his approach, and, in despair, would burn all its chickensin a great bonfire. And the Thogess of Naunt would be delivered up tothe hero as his personal captive, and with her there would come toChi'ash-lan a golden walnut containing the secret of life, which wouldhave prove to have something to do with the consumption of largequantities of beer and the enjoyment of the friendship of many women.
"Does this mean what I think it means?" said Sharla the Swordswoman angrily.
"I'm afraid it does," said Vorn, "but I don't have anychoice in the matter. I am but an ignorant gladiator, and my life isirrevocably conditioned by the tyranny of religion and the unalterableburdens of prophecy."
"That doesn't alter the fact that polygamy is politically incorrect," said Sharla.
"Politically incorrect?" said Vorn, puzzled.
"Political correctness," said Sharla, "is a revealed truth to which I was introduced by my chicken."
And Vorn, with a dismayed foreboding, realized then that achicken banished is not necessarily a chicken defeated, and that theevil a chicken does may live on long after that chicken's mortal end.
The End
official site of the two stories
http://zenvirus.com/succubus/index.html
THE SUCCUBUS AND OTHER STORIES
Thefull texts of 30 of the 65 stories in THE SUCCUBUS AND OTHER STORIESare online here. These are high-quality literary stories, a mixture offantasy, science fiction, horror and the bizarre. These stories arehosted by Hugh Cook on his sites zenvirus.com and hughcook.com.
These text stories are written for a mature audience and oftendeal with adult themes. Sensitive souls (those of you who had troublegetting through your first autopsy) may find the content disturbing,offensive and far too close to the bone.
evergreen- الجنس :
عدد المساهمات : 1497
النقاط : 61928
التقييم : 34
تاريخ التسجيل : 2010-02-03 -
Re: fantasy stories
by evergreen Mon Oct 18, 2010 4:53 pm
How to Write a Fantasy Story
Do you want to write a really good fantasy tale, perhaps to be the next best-seller? Here are some tips to help you
Steps
1
Decide what you want to write. A short children's story? A novella? A full blown fantasy epic?Decide what kind of fantasy you would like to write about, e.gRealistic fantasy, Sci-Fi, etc. If it's your first writing project,start small, and don't overwhelm yourself. Look for other books forinspiration
2
Develop a plan of characters and plot for your story. Brainstorm your ideas/settings/characters. Don't be afraid to go a little wild. All your brainstorming will help a lot.Make your characters complicated, make them real, and let them have apersonality and a life. Think of fantasy stories you have already readand what you liked about these. Even better - go to the source. Authorssuch as Tolkien and Rowling borrow heavily from traditional myths andlegends, and doing the same is the best way to avoid ripping off thebest sellers
3
Move from reality into fantasy. Think about certainscenes that you would like to write, and write them down in a notebookor on the computer. Will your characters start off in the real worldand discover the magical elements hidden beneath the surface? (HarryPotter) Will they be transported into a world where all the rules aredifferent? (Chronicles of Narnia) Or will they start off in a worldentirely different from our own, and go on noble quests to slay dragonsand defeat evil (Lord of the Rings)?
4
Create the world. Add things such as talking animals, dragons or even dinosaurs, along with magic.You can make up your own magical species, or use ones borrowed fromfolklore, or even not have any at all. The same goes for magic. Try to avoid cliches as much as possible - twist and subvert them. Try to come up with a good beginning and ending.
5
Write.Just write. Don't just write the story, but write histories of yourcharacters, unrelated shorts, and anything else you can think of toflesh out your characters and your world. If you have the plot and anoutline in mind, then write out the rough draft first - and only whenyou're done should you go back and edit. Use a neutral, well-spokenlanguage. Don't use certain words just to sound smart, if you or othersdon't even know what they mean.
6
When you're finished, go through your story and proof-read. Edit any mistakes, or improve on things that can be improved. Create a checklist to work from:
7
Let others read your work. Print out your finishedproduct and hand out multiple copies to people who may enjoy readingyour novel. It can be just a few close friends at first, but once youstart getting good criticism and you start building confidence, youmight want to consider trying to publish.Accept any criticisms, as they will make you a better writer in thefuture. Fix anything that your editor tells you. Believe that you canbe published if you put your mind to it. But try not to hope toostrongly for your book to be published, for you could end up verydepressed if all doesn't go to plan. If your work is rejected by oneeditor, edit the story or send it to a different publisher.
----------
http://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Fantasy-Story
Do you want to write a really good fantasy tale, perhaps to be the next best-seller? Here are some tips to help you
Steps
1
Decide what you want to write. A short children's story? A novella? A full blown fantasy epic?Decide what kind of fantasy you would like to write about, e.gRealistic fantasy, Sci-Fi, etc. If it's your first writing project,start small, and don't overwhelm yourself. Look for other books forinspiration
2
Develop a plan of characters and plot for your story. Brainstorm your ideas/settings/characters. Don't be afraid to go a little wild. All your brainstorming will help a lot.Make your characters complicated, make them real, and let them have apersonality and a life. Think of fantasy stories you have already readand what you liked about these. Even better - go to the source. Authorssuch as Tolkien and Rowling borrow heavily from traditional myths andlegends, and doing the same is the best way to avoid ripping off thebest sellers
3
Move from reality into fantasy. Think about certainscenes that you would like to write, and write them down in a notebookor on the computer. Will your characters start off in the real worldand discover the magical elements hidden beneath the surface? (HarryPotter) Will they be transported into a world where all the rules aredifferent? (Chronicles of Narnia) Or will they start off in a worldentirely different from our own, and go on noble quests to slay dragonsand defeat evil (Lord of the Rings)?
4
Create the world. Add things such as talking animals, dragons or even dinosaurs, along with magic.You can make up your own magical species, or use ones borrowed fromfolklore, or even not have any at all. The same goes for magic. Try to avoid cliches as much as possible - twist and subvert them. Try to come up with a good beginning and ending.
5
Write.Just write. Don't just write the story, but write histories of yourcharacters, unrelated shorts, and anything else you can think of toflesh out your characters and your world. If you have the plot and anoutline in mind, then write out the rough draft first - and only whenyou're done should you go back and edit. Use a neutral, well-spokenlanguage. Don't use certain words just to sound smart, if you or othersdon't even know what they mean.
6
When you're finished, go through your story and proof-read. Edit any mistakes, or improve on things that can be improved. Create a checklist to work from:
- Is your plot feasible, at least according to the rules you've setup? Do you explain things enough to create willing suspension ofdisbelief?
- Is your world and the rules it's based upon consistent?
- Are your fantasy characters identifiable, well-described and interesting?
- Is your theme subtle but well-developed? If you include a moral in your work present it subtlety.
- Is your style and diction consistent and appealing to your target audience?
7
Let others read your work. Print out your finishedproduct and hand out multiple copies to people who may enjoy readingyour novel. It can be just a few close friends at first, but once youstart getting good criticism and you start building confidence, youmight want to consider trying to publish.Accept any criticisms, as they will make you a better writer in thefuture. Fix anything that your editor tells you. Believe that you canbe published if you put your mind to it. But try not to hope toostrongly for your book to be published, for you could end up verydepressed if all doesn't go to plan. If your work is rejected by oneeditor, edit the story or send it to a different publisher.
----------
http://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Fantasy-Story
evergreen- الجنس :
عدد المساهمات : 1497
النقاط : 61928
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تاريخ التسجيل : 2010-02-03 -
Re: fantasy stories
by evergreen Mon Oct 18, 2010 4:56 pm
a collection of 'generators' that make random characters, plots, ideas, and more to use in your writing, games, art and more.
Seventh Sanctum
FANTASY STORY GENERATOR
http://www.seventhsanctum.com/gens/argonizer.html
elcome to Seventh Sanctum, a site of random tools for creativity and more!
http://www.seventhsanctum.com/
Seventh Sanctum
FANTASY STORY GENERATOR
http://www.seventhsanctum.com/gens/argonizer.html
elcome to Seventh Sanctum, a site of random tools for creativity and more!
http://www.seventhsanctum.com/
evergreen- الجنس :
عدد المساهمات : 1497
النقاط : 61928
التقييم : 34
تاريخ التسجيل : 2010-02-03 -
Re: fantasy stories
by evergreen Mon Oct 18, 2010 5:09 pm
FANTASY STORIES
Scheherezade’s Bequest 11
http://www.cabinetdesfees.com/
------------------------------------------
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/
Scheherezade’s Bequest 11
http://www.cabinetdesfees.com/
------------------------------------------
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/
evergreen- الجنس :
عدد المساهمات : 1497
النقاط : 61928
التقييم : 34
تاريخ التسجيل : 2010-02-03 -
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» Sad Stories and Sad Love Stories
» Design A Surreal, Ancient Fantasy Scene In Photoshop
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