Tuesday, January 20, 2015

1-20-15 Writing Warm-up
7:33 AM

1-20-15 Writing Warm-up


1-20-15 Writing Warm-up
Artwork © Svetlin Velinov, All Rights Reserved - http://velinov.deviantart.com/
Story and Characters © Corey Blankenship, All Rights Reserved 
Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

“Things have changed.”

The basal grind--like an industrial coal sieve--ripped at the fibers of my soul. When the growl came through the medium, its overlay had been softened by her sultry croon. Many, ahem, “rituals” had been...pleasurable. But now I had graduated, or so Khosk had spoken through my exquisite teacher. Syrena. How I missed her tender touch as I stood alone in this clammy cemetery.

What were the honeyed words she chanted? “The succulent song of luring,” as she had whispered, her spiced breath awakening my potential...Ah, now I remember...

The nocturnal dance of Pan’s pantomime
Calls forth prance from passion of mine
--A riotous rhythm, an unruly rite,
An endless spring of lascivious delight:
Summons the foul Lord of Blights.

“Y-yes, Sire. I agree.”

I had hardly paid attention to my response, snared in the thoughts of her slender fingers’ caresses.

“Agree? Are you so important as to speak as my peer?”

“N-no, Sire…”

“The realms have changed. You have acted wisely, though you are ignorant of the matter. I thank you for your short service.”

“Not a problem, M’liege. I live to ever serve you.”

The chuckle that echoed after my words felt as freshly spewed igneous rubbed over my intestines.

“Ah, yes...service. Yours shall be richly rewarded. I needed a vessel in whom I can completely trust.”

A full moon cast its ghostly strands around me, though a terrible shadow cloaked me from behind. During the chanting I had thought it merely branches moving in the light. Oh, how I had forgotten Syrena’s massages...er, messages. Now I saw the thick, spiky brambles were in fact Khosk. Or, rather, knew, as his tarry breath burned the nape of my neck. His strangely limping speech raked across my ears.

“It is time for you to become my soldier.”

“Um...I’m no combatant...Syrena could find you muscle...she’s good with muscle…”

“No, fool, not a soldier of strength. A soldier of soul. MY soul.”

The roots of my hackles twitched painfully at his words. I wasn’t liking where this was going. What were those words of returning? I so desperately needed to remember the words that fell from Syrena’s sweet mouth…

“Gh’dzi-dal...um...oem-mal-dumm...fara’dzi...oh…”

“Barad’gadh’zi."

“Ha. Ha. Ha."

“Oh, mortal…”


A massive limb moved its terrible branches over my head. But it was no tree. Oh no, where was Syrena’s gossamer fingers to brush away the fear? I really needed her now. Then, I didn’t. A foul, pallid burning filled my brain, raged into my eyes, and rushed out into the night. A horrible anguish, an endless hunger, and terrible knowing. Yes, knowing...knowledge unspeakable. Alas, “I” did speak.

“...The Gates are shut, and your world is Mine.”

***

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