Archive for Writing Stuff

Fiendish Profiles: “Sewer Rat” by E. J. Tett

November 29, 2011 Blog, Fiendish Profiles, Writing Stuff

Two red eyes blinked in the darkness of the sewer, eyes glowing like the embers of a dying fire. Sewer Rat sat huddled on top of his pile of soggy, stinking clothing that he had dragged down into the sewers to use as his bed. He’d used the stinger on his tail to numb his victims and then, laughing and chattering to himself, he’d ripped the clothing from their bodies and raced back into the depths with his prize. He could only imagine the looks on his victims’ faces once they were able to move again.

All around him in the gloom, hundreds of tiny warm, wet bodies wriggled and writhed together. His rats followed him wherever he went and he knew that they adored him. Worshipped him.

It was all that he deserved, of course. After killing his summoner and master, Archos, and delivering his soul to Hell, Sewer Rat was free to do whatever he pleased. And what pleased him most was ruling over his kingdom of rats in the World Below.

Other imps mocked him. Imps who could shape-shift better than he could, into bats and cats and spiders… Sewer Rat would shift into the form of his fat, black rat and scuttle off into the darkness, chattering to himself about the unfairness of it all. One day he would take his rats and rise up out of the sewers. Then he would see who was laughing…

Something brushed against his skin. Sewer Rat looked down to see one of his underlings touching the magic ring he wore around his wrist. He hissed at the creature and it dashed off, squeaking in panic before diving into a crack in the sewer wall.

Sewer Rat smiled and sat back comfortably on his rags. He twisted his ring bracelet, flapped his leathery wings, and then folded his arms and surveyed his kingdom. Things floated past him in the dark. Scum floated on top of the water. Slime dripped down the brick walls. Sewer Rat thought it was the best place he had ever lived.

He closed his eyes to doze when he sensed a faint hum of magic in the air. All around him, the rats squeaked and screamed and clambered over one another in desperation, a writhing, boiling mass of bodies that soon dispersed and scattered into the darkness, leaving Sewer Rat alone.

Footsteps sloshed through sewer water, heading down the tunnel towards him. Sewer Rat’s yellowy hide shimmered briefly and then he became invisible, watching to see who would come his way. He could feel magic radiating off the figure and he knew it was a fellow fiend.

He kept as still as he could, holding his breath in anticipation, and watched as a barbazus strode towards him. He opened his mouth in a silent hiss, baring his rodent teeth. He wondered what one of Hell’s elite warriors was doing in such a place but then he felt it again. The tingle of magic. His eyes locked on the barbazus’s belt and he almost jumped up and down in excitement. The belt was powerful, he could feel it. Made of snakeskin and with a metal clasp, the barbazus had adorned it with the teeth of his enemies. Sewer Rat wanted it badly.

The barbazus stopped by the heap of clothes. Its beard twitched and Sewer Rat could see it was looking for something. He stayed still, pressing himself flat to the clothes pile and keeping himself invisible. He waited but his eyes were drawn to the belt again. Carefully, he edged forwards, reaching out with a clawed hand, reaching for the belt…

The barbazus swung its glaive. Sewer Rat screeched and jumped back, his invisibility forgotten. He flapped his wings and fluttered about the barbazus’s head, chattering and shrieking while the fiend tried to grab him.

Sewer Rat spat curses and then quickly disappeared. He flew down the tunnel and away, not making himself visible again until he was certain the barbazus wasn’t following him. After a while, he settled himself down beside the sewer river and congratulated himself on his bravery.

He thought again about the belt. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to wear it and he knew also that, like his ring, he wouldn’t be able to work it. But he knew that he wanted it. And he knew that he’d get it. No imp would mock him if he had such an item.

As he brooded in the dark, rats emerged from tunnels and cracks in walls. They clambered out of the river and slunk down from the walls above to join him. He smiled and gathered them all to him and two came forward from the group, baring between them a small, dead snake. The rats dropped their kill at his feet and Sewer Rat picked it up.

He pondered the dead creature for a moment and then, in one swift movement, stripped the skin from the body and tossed the flesh to his waiting rats to feast on. He tied the skin around his waist and then, in the darkness, Sewer Rat laughed.

“Sewer Rat” by E.J. Tett, art by Pablo Peppino, © 2011, XEI
Licensed under the Creative Commons License By-NC-SA

You CAN share and distribute this story;
You CAN make “fan fiction” based on characters in this story;
You CAN NOT make profit off this work or any derivitive works;
You MUST use apply the same CC-License indicated above.

You MUST include the proper Attribution with ANY shared story:
“Written by E.J. Tett, © 2011, XEI, http://www.nunoxei.com”

“For Evermore” by Nuno Teixeira, Intro in Raven Nevermore #1

November 16, 2011 Blog, Comic Stuff, Raven Nevermore, Writing Stuff

FORWARD

I feel inclined to write up an summary of what is to follow. It was initially written as a 500 word short story as a fill in page of content for my comic Raven Nevermore #1. It was intended as a “bridge piece” establishing a proper homage to the comic’s obvious inspiration: Edgar Allan Poe’s masterful poem, “The Raven”. The content of the piece wasn’t overtly IN the actual comic but it was definitely floating in my subconscious as the pre-framework that structured the actual 8-issue origin story for its protagonist, Corvan Moore.

The short story was written in a day and then a concept struck me: Why not doing it as an alternate story expansion directly inspired by Poe’s poem? And I meant in every way possible.

What followed was about 3 hours of breaking down “The Raven” into syllable patterns, rhyming sequences, sound repetition and so on. When I thought I had it all, I’d find another structural component in “The Raven” that sent me back to re-work what I’d already written. An example is Poe’s use of the double-syllable equal-sound rhyme schemes, not just single-syllable or definitely not near-rhymes; this proved to be the most difficult thing to work around. Some style elements I picked up on were things like the punctuation Poe ends lines with, or how quotation text NEVER gets quoted at the start of a line, or soft sound repetition with “s” sounds and hard sound repetition with “k” sounds (examples).

That all said, about 24 hours of work across two days, I completed a 9 stanza original “mimic” piece. I won’t claim being anything NEAR the master Poe was as his poem still has many subtle intricacies I’m in no position to become aware of easily (and under pressure to see this done sooner than later). An example of these subtle choices on his end concern his line syllables. I worked out the AVERAGE beats and stuck to it rigidly (16, 15, 16, 15, 15, 7); trust me when I say that over “The Raven’s” 18 stanzas this pattern was PRETTY darn consistent. One at one point did this pattern change to (16, 16, 16, 16, 16, 7) and it blew my mind when it did. Yes, something THAT simple blew my mind. There’s a new level of experience you get out of great pieces of poetry after reading it over a hundred times in the last few weeks (probably close to 50 times in the last 2 days alone).

Anyways, I’m not a poetry analyst, so I apologize that I don’t have the right terms to use concerning its structure. The above is a common man’s geek-out commentary. Onward to the “final draft” of my homage that stands in a quite an important addition to the Raven Nevermore experience now.

Read the Original: Edgar Allan Poe’s, “The Raven”, on Project Gutenerg

FOR EVERMORE

Once upon a time forgotten, lived a scholar misbegotten;
A simple recluse self-absorbed, brooding over books of lore.
In distant lands now forgotten, fraught with chill the fog had brought in,
Heart-broken, forever caught in memories of his Lenore–
To hear her voice, soft and splendid, the voice of his lost Lenore–
To hear speak, and nothing more.

How obsessed this man had become, fearing failure should he succumb
To step on Charon’s boat and leave forlorn souls on misty shore.
Never, said he, “I shall prevail! Do you hear me beyond the Veil?
Bird of shadows, of night’s travail! Totem spirit, I implore–
Raven, send me an avatar; I shan’t fail you, I implore!”
Then silence, and nothing more.

With the proper dedication, and sigils of evocation,
The scholar on his knees did scrawl, a spiral upon the floor;
Ancient phrases he did mumble, raven feathers he did crumble,
To summon bowed low and humble, this ominous bird of yore–
I forfeit food and sleep, said he, “come, ominous bird or yore!”
Then stillness, and nothing more.

His fealty did not falter, his position did not alter;
A sacrifice to establish, with the Totem, a rapport.
Open was his Tome of Raven–death no longer left him craven,
Summon circle made this maven–glyph and soul, a planar door–
Three days and nights ajar, said he, “this body: a planar door–
For the bird named, ‘Nevermore.’”

With these final words, he waited, patient for what he was fated,
Watching the walls, floor, and ceiling of his chamber become no more.
In that short moment, half-dreaming, a raven cawed, thus redeeming,
His deep emotions came streaming from out his bossom for Lenore–
I wish to be your host, said he, “take me to my lost love Lenore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore”.

The scholar stood, lost and confused, for he no ill-intention used–
Why then, Seed of Raven, said he, “echo your name and ignore
The simple request I stated–ancient texts I translated,
All carefully contemplated, all to reach this misty shore!–
To reach the Otherworld border; this Plutonian Shore!–
Take me as host, Nevermore!”

Down flew the raven so vainly, to strut on land so ungainly,
To discuss an agreement for a proposition it bore.
Words it whispered, smooth and sleek all, sealed with the fowl’s fiery call,
Never would the scholar recall the pact made and price in store–
For Lenore, said he, “I’ll accept whatever price is in store–
I’ll be bound to Nevermore.”

Then the Otherworld did shutter, when avatar wings did flutter
As the bird shifted to shadow–to merge with the scholar’s core.
Newly awakened, confounded, finding himself now surrounded
In burnt fields where dead abounded; he thought of his love Lenore–
The Raven Tome still held tightly; he’d now find his love Lenore–
He was bound to Nevermore.

The scholar stared ahead gawking, at a gypsy maiden walking
Past corpses as she looted with eyes on Raven Tome of lore.
He marvelled at her revival–at his lost love’s survival.
I’ve been waiting your arrival, said she, “I’m Bodva Le’Noir.”
Here my love was, Lost One no more–to love my reborn Lenore–
Happily for evermore.

Figments 02: “Crypt of the Nameless” by Nuno Teixeira

June 30, 2011 Blog, Flash Fiction: Figments, Writing Stuff

A tear rolled down Petra’s cheek. She just wanted the grotesque creature to stop torturing her husband.

“Enough!” she screamed once more.

Torches set in iron fixtures made shadows dance eerily on the rough hewn walls.

The hunched over thing stopped running its curved claw across Zenon’s chest. Zenon lost consciousness again. In the last half hour, he could barely even scream anymore. Being unconscious at least gave him respite from the pain.

Each time Zenon went limp, the thing would put its head against his chest. After confirming Zenon still had a heartbeat, it would just squat beside him and stare at Petra. It was as if the strange creature were simply waiting for something.

It was the size of a child, its rib cage protruded–-every single rib could be seen. Its stomach bulged outwards, more a sign of severe malnutrition than a product of overeating. It was like a starving street dog begging for scraps. But never once did it attempt to lick its bloodied claws; never once did it take a bite of her husband.

“Why are you doing this?” Petra asked through sobs.

It said nothing. It just stared at her with swollen, bulging eyes… the black orbs distant and vacant… endless voids absorbing even the limited torchlight.

“Let my husband go – ” she began. She noticed it cocked its head and licked its lips hungrily when she said the word husband.

Every time the thing cut or pierced Zenon’s flesh, it would just pivot its head, eager not to miss any word that Petra shouted. It listened intently to ever word Petra spoke. But what? What did it want from them, Petra thought.

“I’m sorry,” Petra said desperately. “I’m sorry for disturbing your home. Is that what you want? An apology? We’ll leave and never return then! I promise!”

The crypt had been sealed for almost a hundred years. Petra and her husband had taken months to put a team together to dig out the site. The first workers who finally uncovered the entrance set off into the crypt with torches to explore further. The next day they had no idea who they were. Some faint memories existed, but it was obvious that something had traumatized the workers enough that they had no desire to return to the dig site. When asked why… they simply had no words to explain it.

Petra and Zenon, feeling responsible, set off to seal the crypt and close down the site. The creature captured Petra first and then bound her to a marble column. Zenon came looking for her and was likewise caught. His torture began soon after.

The thing crept towards Petra like a hairless monkey; its skin so thin the muscles could be seen extending and contracting with each movement. It never took its black orbs off her mouth as it approached. It stopped a foot away, and Petra was certain it was her turn to be tortured.

“Please stop! My husband… my husband is bleeding to death.”

Its head inched forward at the word husband again. She could feel its hot breath as it wheezed and then sniffed her lips; it was a deep and long inhale. She started to feel faint. “I love him, please let Zenon go…”.

Zenon-–it wanted to hear Zenon’s name! The thing leapt away from her–it was an eager leap–a strand of saliva dripped from its mouth to the cold stone floor. It rushed Zenon and straddled his extended legs. It raised a bony hand to Zenon’s forehead, the thumb and index finger dug into the skin, just enough to pierce it.

“Please!” Petra screamed.

The thing slowly pulled its hand away from Zenon’s forehead, a shimmering thread between its fingers. A long tongue licked dry lips hungrily. The thread came free. The thing looked at Petra once more and snapped Zenon’s binding ropes. It scrambled away with its prize and settled against a wall in the back of the crypt. Petra watched as it slipped the shimmering thread into its mouth and started to suck it slowly.

Zenon’s eyes opened. He seemed drowsy and took a moment to acknowledge the pain he was in, and most importantly, the fact that he was no longer bound.

Panic overtook Zenon causing him to jolt to his feet. He was disoriented. He was cut and bleeding and knew he had been bound earlier, but was no longer aware of the name-eater that tortured him.

Zenon started to head for the exit but then stopped and turned to free Petra. “We have to get out of here, miss!”

“I was so worried,” Petra said as she hugged her husband. “I love you so much, Zenon.”

Zenon pulled her away. “Who’s Zenon?”

Petra recalled the previous workers who had lost their memories, their names, their identity… now she understood why. There was an alien creature in these ancient crypts that devoured names. Fearing to lose her own identity she glanced back into the crypt for the creature but it was no longer there. She cared not for how it vanished, she only cared that her and Zenon were now free.

The newly estranged couple started to climb the worn out stone stairs when the torches went out, leaving the crypt consumed by darkness once more.

“Crypt of the Nameless” by Nuno Teixeira © 2011, XEI
Licensed under the Creative Commons License By-NC-SA

You can share and distribute this story, but can NOT make profit off it, and MUST share it freely as well with the same CC-License indicated above.
You MUST include the proper Attribution with the shared story:
“Written by Nuno Teixeira, © 2011, XEI, http://www.nunoxei.com”

Behind the Curtain: Matron Haron

June 25, 2011 Behind the Curtain, Blog, Fiendish Profiles, Writing Stuff

This post takes a deeper look at the fiendish personality known as Matron Haron. This content is intended as support material for the short story “Matron Haron” by E.J. Tett. Reading that short first is recommended.

Year of the Story: X-120; Location: Cog Town, Signora

Modern Cog Town is a bustling city filled with an assortment of business and entertainment to accomodate the needs of the many different types of visitors.

Matron Haron is one of the more extreme examples of Cog Town’s willingness to offer a new start to those seeking one. She considers herself a “reformed fiend” and came to Cog Town requesting asylum–and if that wasn’t an option, she’d offer herself as a willing prisoner first. Granting a fiend asylum was never a scenario Cog Town had to accomodate… but the Council was more than curious about the succubus’ proposition.

The process was long and tedious, and for ten years she did everything she could to demonstrate good behaviour and “non-fiendish” intentions. She participated in all sort of tests–physical, mental, even magical. She never complained, she was patient, and in the end, she was released as a citizen with all the protections of the citizenship. No one knew her real name, and she preferred it that way. She took on the name “Haron” and started a new life for herself.

She integrated fairly easily into Cog Town’s commercial sector, using her natural skills and exotic nature to make a profit behind closed doors. After getting past major prejudice, great fear, and near-successful death threats, it became easier for people to accept her in their presence. She invested in cosmetic surgery with her initial profits: she transplanted her bat-like wings for feathered ones with Teslan grafting, she bleeched her leg fur white and lightened her reddish skin pigmentation to light pink, she even filed her horns down. She was a new person.

… And that was the most important part of her plan.

Fiendish Profiles: “Matron Haron” by E.J. Tett

June 25, 2011 Blog, Fiendish Profiles

“She doesn’t look quite… human.”

Kissendra laughed and lay back on the comfortable sofa in the lounge of Matron Haron’s House of Lovers. She looked over at her fellow companion and smiled at the woman’s naivety. “How so?” she asked.

She watched as Haron, standing behind the reception desk, leaned forward a little as she spoke to a potential client. Her friend was slow to respond and she looked over at the woman to see her brow furrowed prettily as she also watched the Matron.

“She has hooves.”

Kissendra laughed again. “And wings,” she added. She grinned wickedly. “You’re observant! Have you seen the horns?”

“Horns?”

“Horns,” Kissendra confirmed. “Though she’s had them filed down. Have a look and you might catch a glimpse of them beneath her hair. She’s had a lot of work done, if you look.”

“I’m not… I mean, I’m not about to start staring at the Matron, she’ll get offended!” The woman, girl, Kissendra thought, sat up and folded her arms across her chest.

“She likes it,” Kissendra said. “When people look at her.”

“When people look at her lustfully,” her friend said.

At reception, Matron Haron moved out from behind the desk, her hips swaying seductively. She put a hand on the client’s arm and steered him towards the lounge where the companions waited.

Kissendra arranged herself artfully on the sofa and smiled when Haron brought the man over. His eyes passed over her and then away. She didn’t let it bother her. She turned back to her friend when Haron moved the man on, tempting him instead with an elven woman.

“You’re new,” she said. “Do you know how Haron became Matron?”

Her friend shook her head, pulled her gaze away from Haron and the client and looked at Kissendra. “Tell me.”

“This is Cog Town’s most successful brothel,” Kissendra said. “But only since Haron came and I’ve been here longer. I was here at the beginning and I’ll be here until the end. I’ve worked under two Matrons and a Patriarch. I killed the first Matron.”

Her friend looked at her in surprise and she smiled, pleased at the reaction. “Stabbed the bitch,” she explained. “I didn’t like her, she treated me like a common whore. As did Patriarch Farlan, but he was violent too. He was Haron’s.”

She sat up on the sofa and leaned over to her friend. “Haron has a way with violent old men in particular. She can tame them, turn them into soft, weak things. She has certain… talents.”

“Really?” her friend asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t see it.”

“Then you are not as observant as I thought,” Kissendra said dryly, turning as Haron walked past, hooves sinking into the soft carpet.

The Matron took a quill and dipped it into an inkpot on the desk before scratching something into her book. She looked up once, her eyes met Kissendra’s and a small smile touched her lips.

“I would die for her,” Kissendra said. She licked her lips and turned back to her friend. The woman had backed off so she grabbed her arm and pulled her close again. “You would do the same!”

“I – ”

“Farlan beat me,” Kissendra said, loosening her grip. “And raped me. And he would have killed me if I hadn’t have been his favourite. He got his. In the end.”
“Haron?”

“One night I ran. I’d had enough. I ran until I fell at the feet of a great she-demon. A woman with horns and cloven hooves and the wings of a bat. I thought she was going to kill me.” Kissendra let her friend go but the woman reached for her hands and gave them a squeeze, looking at her imploringly.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Haron picked me up and brought me back here. She gave me back to Farlan. I hated her then.” Kissendra shook her head, gazed at Haron again. “But she needed an excuse to be here, and I was that excuse. Haron knew what this place was. She knew what it could do for her. And apparently, she and Farlan knew each other.”

“They were lovers?”

“Close,” Kissendra said, smiling. “Enemies. They’d tried to kill each other on more than one occasion.”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t lovers.”

Kissendra laughed. “No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. Haron gave me back to Farlan and watched as he punished me. When it was over, she paid for me and took me to a private room.”

“She sounds as bad as him,” her friend whispered, a horrified look on her face.

Kissendra couldn’t help but grin. “Oh she is,” she agreed. “But she’s also much better. We made love for the first time that night. She empowered me. We’re…linked, telepathically.” She tapped the side of her head. “Everything I know, she knows. And we’re both stronger for it.”

She let go of her friend’s hands and leaned back on the sofa. “When Haron left my room, she looked like me. She went straight to Farlan and tricked him into bed. She fucked him until there was nothing left of him but a dried out old husk.” She smirked and looked at her friend. “She did that thing for me.”

“And then?”

“And then she became Matron. She had her wings removed; apparently, they were frightening to some people. Now she has those pretty feathered ones, like an angel. Me, I preferred her old ones.” She shrugged and got to her feet, leaving her friend alone in the lounge and joining Haron in reception.

“My dear, Kiss, you’re telling all my secrets,” Haron purred, hooking an arm around Kissendra’s waist and pulling her close.

Kissendra smiled. “No,” she said. “I’m giving her a warning not to mess with you.”

Haron’s eyes moved past Kissendra, over her shoulder to the girl in the lounge. “You think she is a spy,” she said.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Haron looked at Kissendra and touched her face softly. Kissendra felt a shiver run through her. “But she is such a sweet girl. You will keep an eye on her for me?”

“For you, Matron, I would do anything.”

“Matron Haron” by E.J. Tett, art by Pablo Peppino; © 2011, XEI
Licensed under the Creative Commons License By-NC-SA

You can share and distribute this story, but can NOT make profit off it, and MUST share it freely as well with the same CC-License indicated above.
You MUST include the proper Attribution with the shared story:
“Written by E.J. Tett, © 2011, XEI, http://www.nunoxei.com”

Behind the Curtain: Matron Haron
This feature provides additional setting-specific info to support this short story. Go read more!

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