Four Fools Press

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Seas lap with mournful kindness,
Draped about as a silvery necklace
Around the Land of the Loving Countess.  
The scent of sage, the runes of mages
Forbodes ill for the unraveling ages,
I glimpse a book rent of its pages.
 Sweetly come Her words afar off calling:
Return to the beginning ere the Ending,
So that in rest you will find rejoicing.
Scree jostled the fifteen feet down to the grassy hillock. A swath of green marsh and shimmering rivers danced in a coruscation of silver and emerald. Opposite of the two travelers’ perch lay a grand monolith. Little resided around the forlorn jut of fractured stone. Birds surveyed the broken crown of stone from high above, their cries lost to the ears of the wingless far below.

“Oh no...”

The surprise and sadness stung Cèrson’s heart.

“I’m sorry, Geneviève. How could I know…”

“Know? Know?! That everything would...that She would....oh, Cèrsi. Why did all of this have to happen to us here? Now? After we’ve come so far.”

Geneviève’s shoulders shook with anguish as her eyes poured out hot rivulets.

“The price for the portal key back into the Ethereal cost us everything. Everything...for nothing. We’re too late.”

“Gen, I do not think our venture to Her domain was for nothing. We are the first to see this world. To see Her. Perhaps this is what She wanted…”

“Wanted? How can you speak of my Mother like that! She’s gone! Gone. What is a world for the One who created you?”

The seasoned warrior placed a firm hand on his beloved’s shoulder. He knew the pain that spurred her rage.

“I think She knew what was coming, Gen. I may not be Her avatar, but I can see the wisdom of calling Her only daughter back to a safe place--a place She had prepared. I think...I think She knew the Closing would destroy Her.”

The beautiful shield-maiden turned and clasped her hands around his scarred face. Her eyes as piercing as midwinter scrutinized his soul.

“How can you believe such things? I am of Her, and I did not know. Did not see. Did not sense...How is it the outlander She hated perceives intent that Her daughter did not foresee?”

“Because we both love you.”

Cèrson took her hands and kissed them before placing them on his chest and drawing her close. The smell of lavender and evening always permeated her presence. He breathed deeply and let his adoration for this demi-goddess to wash over his rugged heart, even as he sought to stretch forth his own fierce and protective aura.

The Lady let his strength support her as her sorrow streamed down his heavy plate-mail. Long had been her mission as her Mother’s emissary to the realms. Longer since she had left this pocket dimension hidden amid the multiverse to adventure. This blunt soldier had stood by her and had even slain his own father, a titan, to protect her. Now, at the closing of all things, he joined her in fulfilling her Mother’s vision.

Return to the beginning ere the Ending, so that in rest you will find rejoicing.

“Cèrsi, why must all good things end?”

“Only to bring forth another, better beginning, dearest.”

She raised her eyes once more to study his brown eyes.

“We cannot leave. The Doors have sealed.”

“I know this in my heart as well,” Cèrson replied.

“Then, Mother has given us a gift,” she whispered.

“Yes, love.”

The warrior woman stepped back, taking her husband’s hand in her own.

“Let us go see what Mother may have hidden for us within this world...our world. Our home.”

***

If you enjoyed the poem in today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest AMAZON BESTSELLING release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

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1-17-15 Writing Warm-up

7:20 AM

1-17-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #MMWW #Planescape #poetry #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey mmww Planescape writing exercise writing warm-up

Friday, January 16, 2015

1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Blood-cauldrons burning in angry flame
Heaped up agony, overflowing shame
Foul are the kindred hauled from hills
Vile are the Vil’hal who villagers kill!
Blessed Braddox, Breaker-of-Beast,
Slaved the Wicked to save the least!
Yes, Braddox Will-Snapper spared all
When he clapped Grond with iron maul.

 Grond had had enough.

The vermin race bound, used, and killed his people for sport. Vil’hal. тролль. Peikko. Gnomo. Troglodytarum. Tröll.* The tribal slurs' nuances mattered little; they all meant the same. Monster. Yet, who had cut off his hands and burned unbreakable cauldrons onto his limbs? Who had heated metal to glowing white and placed it upon his brow, the last thing Grond would ever see? Hatred was not innate to his kind. It had been cultivated. Grond fed its flame with each new grievance, and today it burned pure inside him. 

The villains had tortured and murdered his wife and his children.

The fiends had made him listen.

The quiet footsoldier in the High Lord’s Helborn Legion stood up in the pit he had been caged. He heard the dull clunk of forged metal rungs against their housing. He raised his ram-fists and struck his own ankles with blows that would flatten men and break troll bones. Agony, the taste of iron, and mud smashed into Grond’s mind. Pain nearly betrayed his plan, but his steeled will clamped back the anguish within him. He lay in his own blood for long spans. A sickly pop announced marrow rejoining bone. The warrior leaned against the wall, recovering from the grizzly ordeal. He took a ginger step and heard nothing beyond the plop of muck protesting his titanic paw.

Grond smiled as he had not in years.

Twenty men-at-arms hurled like flies in summer, shattered bone and broken mail tinkling on the stony ground. No guttural roar heralded Grond’s escape. He gave no alarm, no quarter, no hope. Ears keen by constant use picked man-breaths from horse-neighs, even as the stench of sweat and fear marked the cowards’ paths. The son of titans arose from his prison with judgment for the mortals who dared to chain him. Grond’s hammers shook the foundation of the hills and soon cries of dismay answered his blows.

Men scurried like smoke over stone to either escape or hamper the raging feral-troll. Like wheat before the scythe, smoke upon the wind, rows of men withered from his mammoth blows. Spears whistled, arrows howled, and Grond’s seasoned reflexes turned steel against steel. The thump of poisoned barbs against unflinching mail incited a chuckle from the living mountain. Weak lords these vermin had been. The flecks of their lifesblood hardly tarnished his mauls. The warrior forced the survivors into the wind and advanced.

A final chorus arose from the remnants. Grond understood his plan had succeeded. Standing upon a spire of rock, the victims and their victor loomed over the man-halls below. The giant could hear the bells and shouts down in the city. Grond raised his iron limb and smashed men and stone into dust. Another ironfist rose and fell. Another mortal and shale broke. At the last, Grond opened his mouth and released the pent-up rage of years of enslavement, torture, and murder. The timber of his warcry roared curses generations’ long and nine realms’ high. Man, beast, and mountain quailed at the voice of the trollkin’s hate. Hammer and shout pounded in a terrible crescendo, pouring forth slabs of stone upon the hidden vale. Death rained upon the halls of men with unrelenting speed. Silence followed the sickly echo of their screams amid the thunder of stones. The warrior’s wife and children’s smiling faces flickered within the haze of his mind’s eye. Whatever gods remained in Asgard had honored his cry for justice. The sacrifice upon the fire of the troll’s rage smelled sweet to his bitter heart. 

Grond had not yet had enough.

*Variants of Troll.

***

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1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

6:53 AM

1-16-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #juggernaut #MMWW #Planescape #poetry #TheAfter #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey juggernaut mmww Planescape poetry The After writing exercise writing warm-up

Thursday, January 15, 2015

1-15-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

“This place is sodding desolate. Be open to a pack of devils running around such a sooty dump.”

“This is the plane of Ash, not Gehenna, Berk.”

“Still,” quipped the slender traveler. “It has the air of one th’ hells.

“Black as sin and dark within,

The Nine shall scar ya deeper
Than a thousand barmies swiggin’ gin!

If you end up there, yer gonna be a weeper!”

The bulkier half-dragon gave the smudgy horizon a long glance, ignoring her friend’s spontaneous bar song. “I don’t see our client. I’ve got a bad feeling our ‘blood’ was in fact a barmy.”

“He may have been a bad blood, but that tiefling portal-master was a blood. It’s more like our host got spooked...”

A titanic crack! interrupted the pale-skinned rilmani. All about the two rovers sprouted wiggling tower-whips. Each appeared to be at once oil and smooth stone, adorned with rows of tar-obsidian eyes and sticky hollows. Lava and molten rock burst from the fissures caused by the colossal tentacles, a blistering shrapnel that burned and tore.

“...or eaten!”

Mist bellowed from the half-dragon’s nostrils as she fumed. “By the Nine, I’ll have that tiefer’s head. Ashenbach to Ashen-Book, I’ll Scribe him yet.”

An inaudible message crossed between the two. The half-dragon unslinged a strangely crafted metal crossbow and unfurled her wings. The smaller planar slipped between the layers of reality, while a scurry of ratatosks hopped and glided out of nowhere. The silent, giant squirrels wove around the oily branches, which swung and struck through the vanishing creatures. A thrum rippled through the ground. Another spout of lava and serrated basalt ripped through the air.

A voice shouted from somewhere in the din. “Bersi, it’s getting hot down here! I think it’s time for us to cool things off.”

“I could use a bit of a breeze myself!”

As if on cue, the ash whipped into a vortex into which the half-dragon breathed a gout of frost. This sudden wintry gust slammed into the last of the squirrels and the writhing tentacles with a gale’s force. The tundra-wind stiffened the exposed branches and toppled them. Frozen stalks shattered into rubble on the gritty surface.

More tendrils bubbled and thrashed through the soil. This time a flurry of feathered khaastas zipped between the writhing mass. The tentacles hammered as an air-shaking hum rose from the black soil. Sheets of molten fire blazed up into the sky, aimed at the flying half-dragon. She deftly crested above the lethal surge, though her scaled legs blackened in the heat wave. She hissed and pointed her crossbow at a fissure in the center.

“Give me eyes on the Beast Below, Galak!”

“Aye, Bersi, and Tiamat’s trove when I have it.”

“Shut yer scar! Find me a real target, Shadow-Walker.”

A small sphere of blue flames appeared over a smaller crack. Many of the tentacled burrowed, as if retreating from the light. The orb flew across the space to another chasm. This time a stalk slammed from a flanking side at the light. The flaming ball dodged and came to rest over a third hole. A silver bolt pierced its heart and sailed into the blackness below. A horrible shriek rippled outward, cracking and heaving thick clouds of ash into the air. Lava and oil spewed malevolently from the wounds in the land.

“Time for a pick up!”

“You better have that trove with you.”

The scrawny rilmani dashed between volleys of pyroclast and into Bersi’s view. He waved his empty arms, which two white-scaled claws gripped. The giant rolling clouds of tainted ash dwindled as the two climbed windward. Long and desolate lay the lands about them, an unending field of ash.

“Well, Bersi, no jink this time. I’ve a bad feeling if this is not Gehenna...”

“As do I, after that, as do I…”

***

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1-15-15 Writing Warm-up

11:18 AM

1-15-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #MMWW #Planescape #TheAfter #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey mmww Planescape The After writing exercise writing warm-up

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

1-14-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

“Stone unending” would be a sweet epithet for lands about the Gate. In truth, this was the hells’ bedpan. If one day didn’t bring leagues of fiends, the next brought Clueless Primes running a muck. Everyone and everything had to be handled by the Guard. Today would have been no different had the Gate not ceased and loads of people disappeared. Simply vanished. Still, duty dictates that the Guard remain until the end...which seemed to have come yesterday. But, hey, here we are, so it’s not quite the end we expected.

My squad of three marched through a familiar chasm of rock and ruin. In this wide defile you could lead ten caravans at once--or a horde of tanar’ri. But a squad of three Guardsmen is nothing to shake a pike at. Just a cycle ago one alone had dispatched a particularly uppity Factol and his merry men. Wouldn’t confess to that in court, but the dark of it has gotten ‘round the Wheel. We, the bloods of bashing, stood ready to give any troublesome cutter a scrubbing if he poked his head too far into protected territory. Even after the apocalypse.

A third down the wide road my two mates decide to take a water break. The wells and streams here can’t be trusted. A skipping stream might bring the memory-eating juice of Styx, or gut-burning drip from rivière d’sang (as a silver-tongued Sensate fancied the red river). As such, the lot of us carried flasks at hand. Had large stores of refreshing water in a slip space, but those seemed to vanish with the people. The magnificent holding pouches had become just lousy sacks of fine-mesh. Eh, everything ends. At least our supply of water hadn’t.

As the ol’ glib goes:

Fancy a drink from Baator’s sink?

Better ta ask a Slaad for a salad,

‘Cause nothing greater stinks

Than acid drops that turn you rabid.

We haven’t crossed but halfway through Bloodletters Hollow when the earth opens with a terrible fury. Three fleshy stalks of crimson-red rise to the heights of crags. Ugly, vicious looking things, full of maws and teeth. I’d swear, this piss pot never had worms before. Blades leap from scabbards like trapdoor spiders from their hideouts. Even at the distance between us and the hellspawn, we could still smell the rank aroma of repeated blood baths. Apparently, these things had found a bloody pool big enough to soak their foul hides. We Guardsmen aren’t intimidated by a stinking, over-sized pest. One Guardsman to one rot-wyrm. That’s bad odds. For the wyrm.

***

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1-14-15 Writing Warm-up

6:21 AM

1-14-15 Writing Warm-up

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Tuesday, January 13, 2015

1-13-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Tender Mother of the People

Whose tears water sad hearts

With new joy beyond death

Give your servant mercy

From your abundant love

Through this tender token--

I will give back to you,

I will fulfill what I’ve spoken.

The chamber welcomed all who entered with the comfort of warmth and darkness. Little adorned the space within the tranquil gloom. One could only see a large cushion by a stone column that did not reach higher than a meter. The pillar possessed a smooth depression on its surface, roughly the shape of a curved shell. These centerpieces also had the only light about them, a soft glow that seemed to drift down from the ceiling.

A priestess guided the royal woman into the tender incandescence. The lady closely held some carefully wrapped linens in her arms, which concealed her most precious possession. The attendant gestured for the mistress to sit on the cushion. Then, she gently lifted the swaddled present from the maiden’s arms and placed it gingerly on the pillar. A thin mist flickered across the lady’s eyes. The priestess slipped into the gloom and disappeared.

The silence and warmth of the room effaced time of reference and reason. Hours would feel like aeons, and yet without wear and tiring. The lady and her gift, however, only held their quiet vigil for a few moments. A voluptuous shadow moved gracefully toward the two. The woman approaching swayed in a gentle, serpentine fashion. Her headdress spread forth like a peafowl’s plumes and danced with her hushed steps. When the light fell upon her form, the radiance unveiled a being both terrible and beautiful.

The Mother of All had come.

Chiton plated most of her body, especially her extremities and throat. Her exposed skin whispered of beauty and lushness. Long tentacles flowed from her head, while upon her brow many amber slit eyes studied everything. Her gaze had an esoteric, indecipherable quality. She stopped before the stand and looked upon the crimson bundle. The mistress rose from her cushion and bowed her head.

“M’lady, thank you for answering your servant’s plea. I have come to fulfill my vow.”

The maiden unwrapped the package before returning to her pillow. She bowed her head, cloaking her face in shadow. The Mother-of-All reached with a menacing claw and tenderly scooped the treasure from the pillar. Ivory more smooth and of a greater sheen than elephant’s tusk bore elegant ruby traceries; these scarlet decorations mimicked the All-Mother’s own form. Twin emeralds reflected back her jeweled amber sight. She smiled, unsheathing tightly arranged rows of serrated spikes.

A daughter for the All-Mother was truly a most precious gift to receive.

***

If you enjoyed the poem in today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest AMAZON BESTSELLING release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

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Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78

1-13-15 Writing Warm-up

7:17 AM

1-13-15 Writing Warm-up

#Blankenship #Corey #MMWW #Planescape #TheAfter #WritingExcercise #WritingWarmup Blankenship Corey mmww Planescape The After writing exercise writing warm-up

Four Fools Press is tremendously excited to announce that another of our releases has rocketed into the Amazon Top Ten on its initial release day! We're tremendously proud of Fool, Corey Blankenship, as well as top-notch Four Fools Team! Also, we're very happy to announce that Sketchbook of Scrivenings has already garnered its first Five Star Review!

Pick up your copy today!

However, we could not have done it without our awesome fans, friends, and followers out there - thank you all so much! Keep an eye out for our next release next month, and if you want the scoop on what's coming, join our Free Four FOols Mailing List now!

Oh, and here's the screenshot of the rankings!

Sketchbook of Scrivenings hits the Amazon Top Ten!

6:48 AM

Sketchbook of Scrivenings hits the Amazon Top Ten!

#AmazonBestseller #Blankenship #Corey #poetry Amazon Best Seller Blankenship Corey poetry

Monday, January 12, 2015

1-12-15 Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

Stone chipped and churned as semi-solid breakers, sawing amid the chaos of the sea. The air convulsed and roared. Still, my feet continued to climb in the deepening gloom, upon the shattered pinnacle that had once been fair Mount Athelas.

My body protested the arduous defiance of Nature, but even she reeled as water replaced moor and timeless rock unhinged from ancient roots. The land--and its very spirit-- fell about me in shambles. I could not let my spirit tear apart with the disintegrating realm.

“No, you old fool, you mustn’t give up now!”

Athelas’ humbled crown tumbled yards before my feet into the swirling ocean. Spume, mist, and smoke coiled in frenzied whorls. Leagues ahead lay the buckled ruins of beloved Gol-Mora. The pinnacled crown of our people, the spired city-temple of our race, the home of knowledge and peace for generations...now, in an instant, a tortured, sinking ruin. How many still lived?

My eyes fell to the sickly cauldron that bubbled with a molten light between Gol-Mora and Athelas. The gate which tore open the Wall that kept back the Sea and Spirits. The portal that had spat out the Beast of Ending, Drak’anthi. With a withered hand to rheumy throat, I called forth to the beast.

Be Gone, Demon! The time of Peace has ended, but the War has not. Beware the might of ancient Athelas.

Wings of ash, scales of obsidian, and fangs of fire danced in terrible laughter. The twin ranges of spines rippled as the Beast swiveled his mountainous head to face me. A voice as mirthless and ravenous as tar pits burning seared the air around me.

And what tick has fled the dung hill to prick my ears? The War, if a Slaughter can be called thus, was won ere it began for you, Vermin.

Flee, flea, if you can. That is the only mercy you shall have from me.

His words gnawed in caustic menace. I felt my will retreating from its violating touch. I do not know what rose to meet the venom of his malice; I simply felt a pure spring of peace surge from deep within me. This hidden well cleansed, brimmed, and overflowed. Then came joy unfathomable, as a vision of a fairer realm in a greater time flickered within me. Athelas upon a field of endless green, and a city unnamed and beautiful between her protective knees. I soared on an eagle’s course, higher, until I saw green Athelas as an emerald amid a dancing chorus of colors. The realms flickered, then burned with unfaltering life. The vision vanished and returned to soot, fire, spume, and stone, as I held the dragon’s gaze with my own.

A world unhinged is not a world unmade. The time of endings has not yet come!

Bez-dul-ali, Drak’anthi! Bez-dul-ali, Drak’anthi, perez Athelas Al’nun-ali.

Thus, began the battle of Unspoken Fathoms.

Dragon roared a thousand curses,

from harrowed hill to desolate deep.

Of slaying, skinning, scaling, wailing.

Thunder-splitting, endless hailing.

Fire’s eager burning, rent rock overturning.

While I proclaimed healing sooths,

Of hallowed grove, sacred truth,

Of growing, sowing, flowing, blowing,

Sun’s rising, stars shining.

Hearths warmed, hearts’ glowing.

Air stilled and moonbeams sprouted,

As ancient power dueled and spouted.

Daemon’s roar and meteor’s flight

Burned against the oily night,

While minute man on broken rock,

Answered holy truth to demon’s mock.

Of first song, forgotten story,

Creation’s spark, ancestral glory,

Of blackened days, darkened nights,

Rebellions blazed, failing lights,

Repentant tribes reconciling,

Reclaimers who ceased defiling,

Of vile rites stopped and broken,

Of peace as penance’s token.

Of the snapping of elder ills,

Of returning Spring and daffodils.

The world already rent and roiling, had at the dragon’s words hastened its decay. Darkness curled back toward blackest night, and chaos called forth to Void long-hidden. Shadows danced as the last song had bidden. The rheumy voice of sage came calling, and the end of all things of-a-sudden started stalling. In the midst of breaking, the world remembered its first waking. Of fresh-lit stars, new-formed seas. Of blinking voles and buzzing bees. Clean blew the air around Athelas, father of mountains and friend of glens.

The sea calmed and the rocks ceased to rend. Demon howled and pitched as struck by sacred dart, down into the dimming gyre. And with one last gleam in his feral look, the Beast struck me down with flaming rock. We fell into the deep, both to toss in eternal sleep. What came After who can tell, for the rest is written in another’s story.

***

If you enjoyed the poem in today's Writing Warm-up, you'll LOVE our latest release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings! It's chock full of thrilling verses like this one. Check out the link below!

***

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Don’t miss our latest Four FOols release, Sketchbook of Scrivenings.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S46SE78