The Restless Quill

Tales of a Scorched Earth

2009-07-13T15:31:00.001-07:00

“And while the character has a wider spectrum to his personality, I got the feeling he's most dangerous when he has to act spontaneously. When he has to improvise. He can plan, and he'd rather do that, but he's most valuable and most potent when the shit hits the fan and he has to act spontaneously.” –The Dark Side of the Soul

Well, it only took me six months to make a new post. This has a lot to do with laziness and school, but for now, I’m just happy to be writing again.

Some time ago, I asked one of the most Talented People I know – the artist behind The Dark Side of the Soul, to render a drawing of Wolfe Nightshade for me (see previous entry). I gave him little to work with, just a vague description of Wolfe – Heck I don’t even know if I let him read the chapter that I posted in January – just to see what he’d come up with.

Well, when said creative genius finally had some time to work on it (hey, it took ME six months just to make a new blog post!) the result was… well all I can really call it is amazing.

I’ve never seen an illustration nail the look and feel of the character so dead on before. I believe this is because, rather than just sitting down and drawing a sketch, my friend who we will call “Shirley”, really came to know and understand the character from the inside.

To put it in Shirley’s words:

“While charcoal can create a smoother look (kind of, sort of, not really seen in the gray regions), I really wanted to exploit the look and spontaneity -- the sheer speed -- of charcoal. You can lay down nice thick black streaks with relative ease. And while the character has a wider spectrum to his personality, I got the feeling he's most dangerous when he has to act spontaneously. When he has to improvise. He can plan, and he'd rather do that, but he's most valuable and most potent when the shit hits the fan and he has to act spontaneously. (or, in other words, a "refined" render of this character would be more appropriate sans weapons, in a pose where he sits at the back of the room in shadows ... thinking.)

On that note, I went with the kukri for a weapon since it too reflects the full spectrum of his personality. It's a slick looking forward-swept weapon, very suave, dare I say "dignified" design; however, in use, it swings like an axe and feels like a butcher's implement.”

To read more about what went into the illustrations be sure to check our Shirley’s blog post at The Dark Side of the Soul.

All that I really know about the process is that it’s awesome. :)

So Without further ado, I present to you Wolfe Nightshade:

This is a really cool illustration, like I said, Shirley nailed it. Wolfe is a relatively new character, and arrived late in the book (part 2). However, he has quickly become one of my favorites and plays a pivotal role, and not just in the story. He is the embodiment of one of the central themes – that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Our favorite antagonist is the only “black mage” alive, and uses his dark magic for evil. Wolfe however, also uses the same power. His role, however, is to illustrate that it’s not the power itself that is evil, it is what we has humans do with that power.

Kind of like how guns don’t kill people, etc.

Anyway, it’s nothing new, typical fantasy stuff, but an important discussion none the less, and something I feel needs to belong, especially in this piece.

Again – to Shirley, thank you sir. I could not have asked for a better man or friend to be part of this, or to allow me to call “Shirley.”

For your enjoyment, here’s the render with the “tools of the trade”.

Enjoy!

Farewell, Goodnight, Last one out turn out the lights

Thru the Eyes of Ruby

2009-01-18T00:25:00.000-08:00

This is an exerpt from Part 2. It introduces a new character who is currently bound by an honor debt to an island fortress that's about to come under attack by enemy forces. He meets an advanced scouting party of Vor'deth - the Dogs of War so to speak. This is the start of the main conflict of part 2. Check it out...

The sun was already burning, and it hadn't even reached its peak yet. This was the last day of their little excursion to the main land, and Wolfe Nightshade was glad for it. If the rumors were true they would all be stuck on that wretch of an island for weeks, maybe even months.

But Wolfe didn't believe in rumors. What he did believe in, was evidence. And the facts were that more and more of the sorcerers who survived the destruction of their famed school were disappearing. People were being murdered in the streets of large townships, bodies were left strung out in forests, women were being rapped and half eaten. It was madness.

Wolfe liked to not worry about the world too much. Whatever madness the world had gotten itself into, whatever darkness the people had wrought upon themselves had no hold over him. He was his own man, outside of the rest. They were sheep. He was... maybe a sheep. But one with steel wool and claws at the very least.

No, Wolfe Nightshade cared very little for the comings and goings of man. So what was he doing out there now? Why wasn't he enjoying the open road? He was stuck, all because of some stupid debt he owed Tom Allovac for saving his life. Whatever. He could have handled it. But now here he was, babysitting - babysitting! - two guards and a handful of women who were foraging for food on the whims of a man who had taken it upon himself to become a target. Not that Wolfe was worried about a fight, he just didn't like someone painting a big red bulls eye on his back and telling the whole world it was open season.

Wolfe sighed. He understood Tom's frustration. The man was proud and not prone to think things through. He was hot headed and determined to prove his point, and that rested fine with Wolfe. But they were alone in this. The Federation wasn't even sure there was a problem yet, and wasted their time bickering amongst themselves. Meanwhile he was stuck, babysitting. Wolfe's loathing of his current situation was as heavy as the pile of fish they pulled out of the sea for breakfast. If not more.

Wolfe was on his way to help a woman reach a fruit dangling just out of reach when he first felt it. The feeling that something was wrong. That something bad was about to happen. He could smell the foulness on the air, it caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle up.

Turning and facing deeper in the forest Wolfe made up his mind.

"Drop everything. Return to the boats, shove off for the fortress."

No one said anything. The last three days had been uneventful, everyone expected this trip to be as peaceful as the others. But apparently, Tom Allovac's plan had worked, and now they were all fucked.

The waves slapped gently against the sand of the beaches, a calming sound slowly marking the passage of time. Wolfe turned to the dumbstruck villagers and snarled.

"Get out of here! NOW!"

Baskets of fruit spilled as the women scurried through the clearing and to the beach. The guards stayed with Wolfe, their attention turned to the trail leading deeper into the forest, alert to the sense of dread that was building in the air.

Slowly they pulled their swords, still unsure but no willing to risk it. The foulness was getting closer, Wolfe could smell it. He reached down and unclasped his short swords that ran along his thighs. He pulled his brimmed hat down tighter and prepared himself for what was coming.

What appeared shattered all of his expectations.

Three men bounded out of the trees and flew towards Wolfe and the others. They moved faster than anything Wolfe had ever seen before, using their arms and legs like dogs, snarling their teeth as they burst into the clearing.

"Captain!" one of the guards screamed as he went down, his neck oozing blood where a chunk of meat had been ripped out.

"You have got to be kidding me," Wolfe said as he slid his swords out. One of the attackers leapt at Wolfe full speed, mouth agape, long sharpened nails - claws - reaching for Wolfe's face and neck. Wolfe ducked at the last minute, the tails of his duster fanning out around him, the blades of his swords flashing in the smothering sun.

The attacker sailed right over Wolfe, and was rewarded with thin red lines down its abdomen, its guts spilling in the sand. The man, if you could even call it that, landed hard and did not get up.

The guard captain was facing two of the assailants, slowly circling each other, waiting for the right time to strike. The captain had his sword held low, unsure how to guard against men who walked as easily on all fours as any dog.

One of the creatures lunched at the Captain but retreated quickly, pulling his attention away and allowing the second to strike. The retreating creature came at Wolfe full speed. With a snarl it stood on its legs, slashing and lunging at Wolfe with its claws.

Wolfe was surprised and the sheer ferocity of the attack that came at him. He parried quickly and effectively, but lost ground the whole time. The things fingernails - claws - were like iron, and stood up to his blades. His sword skidded off its forearms as if metal plates had been sewn into it's armor.

A flying forearm caught Wolfe across the face, sending stars shooting through his vision and pain through his face. Wolfe felt himself sliding through the sand.

There was definitely metal in the armor.

Wolfe shook his head clear just in time to see five sharp claws diving for his gut. He caught them on his sword and kicked his attacker backwards. Jumping to his feet, Wolfe renewed his attack. He fought hard for every foot of ground, but eventually succeeded in pushing his opponent back out into the clearing. Wolfe ducked under a wild slash and brought his fist up as hard as he could. The wild uppercut landed squarely on his opponent's jaw, slinging the beast back against a boulder, stunned.

A shrill cry captured his attention. Risking a look he saw blood pouring out of a deep gash on the side of the captain's leg, his sword raised defensively, barely holding out. He didn't have much time.

Wolfe thought about leaving him to his fate. Survival of the fittest. The guard captain allowed himself to be beaten. Wolfe could put a sword in his dazed opponent and make it to the boats easily.

Before he even knew what he was doing, his swords were slowly falling to the ground, free of his grip. Wolfe sighed. He couldn't turn his back on his opponent to save the captain. He couldn't let the captain die either. They were going to need all the bodies they could muster for what was coming. And he owed Tom Allovac, damn him.

Wolfe Nightshade's hands disappeared behind his back, hidden by his duster. When they emerged they were holding a pair of ancient pistols. Black powder packed in and loaded with a lead ball. Two targets, one left, one right. Two shots. He couldn't screw this up.

The swords bounced in the sand. Wolfe spread his arms out wide, his vision turning grey. The monster on his left was lunging at the guard captain, breaking through his defenses, eyes maddened by the closeness of the kill. The monster on his right was pushing off the rock Wolfe had knocked him against, angered and powerful.

Wolfe saw them both. He saw both barrels, focused on both at the same time. Saliva dripped off of fangs flashing in the sun. Time's up. Wolfe pulled the ancient triggers.

The dual booms that rippled through the forest carried a signal of finality to anyone who heard it. Finality because the fight was over. Finality because Wolfe's pistols lay useless in the sand, the last of his black powder and shots spent.

Wolfe Nightshade slung the fallen guard over his shoulder and moved as fast as he could back towards the boats, his retrieved short swords once again strapped to his sides. The guard captain hobbled along as best as he could, winded but wide eyed with a new found fear of the quiet man he had shared the last several days with.

Dead and bleeding in the sand, the corpses of two of the esteemed Vor'deth joined the first. Both with freshly made holes between their eyes.

Tales of a Scorched Earth...

2008-11-23T18:36:00.000-08:00

We all knew the story.

When Man was born the gods granted him the power to control all of the Earth. They granted him the power of compassion, the power of understanding, the power of creativity.

They granted him the power to destroy himself.

For a hundred thousand years Man grew stronger. He raised himself up from hulking savages that scurried across the land grunting and killing like animals, mating reserved only for the strongest, battling and ripping each other apart for dominance.

Man discovered fire, and learned to talk, and write, and build simple machines. Man blossomed, and spread himself across the face of the earth, surviving the harshest winters, the hottest summers, the cataclysm of the Earth's crust breaking apart and drifting across the sea.

And all the while he multiplied, until man rose up so high that even the Gods didn't recognize their creation anymore. Sprawling metropolises littered the world. Resources were stripped and squandered until they were all but gone. Wars were fought and peace was made. Man left the Earth and visited the moon. He became smug and arrogant in his mastery of science and technology.

He wallowed in his own selfishness.

But man failed his first basic duty.

All around him, the Earth was dying. The demands of man weighed too much on her, and soon the precious energy that Man used to fuel his empire had faded.

War broke out. Man fought himself savagely for what precious mineral was left. In the end, Man threw down his proudest achievement and scorched the Earth with its destruction.

Millions burned in the fire. Millions more burned in the aftermath.

The Earth split itself apart, isolating its diseased face, protecting what was left of her fertility.

Years passed, and Man started over at almost the beginning of his journey. The Earth begged the Gods to release her from her duty to suckle the creatures she had come to know only as a pest - a disease. A virus. But the Gods still believed that man could be great. That he could master all that he needed to pave his own destiny.

And so the Gods took away the first power they had given their pets. No longer was science the key to Man's survival. In its stead they gave him power over the elements, so that man could never again poison the earth so.

But even the Gods are not infallible. The Earth has a stake to play as well.

And on a grassy hill, two students training to become Wizard Warriors face each other with swords drawn.

One is pure. But perhaps not in the way you think.

The other... is a cauldron of sadness. Self doubt and loathing battle for his soul every minute he's awake, and every moment he sleeps. Power runs through him frantically, and pushes to the edge of control.

But if he can shed his fears and face the terror of the truth that's standing in front of him, maybe he'll have a chance to save the world.

Or maybe he'll just die.

This is the story of Taylon Hawk and Lucian Lechante'.

Brothers. Enemies. Saviors.

Coming Soon.

This is the first part of their story in print. I'll be editing/revising the whole week while in Mexico, then sending it to The Sodomize Ultimate for his revisions/edits.

And then part II, the battle for man, will begin...

Ode to the Light

2008-09-06T23:41:00.000-07:00

Feel the Cold
And Draw your blade
And know that you've come home,
The bitter chill
Of love and of Kill
A Silent torch you carry on.

Harness the Wind,
Away to the Night
Sing to your Sadness
An Ode to the Light

Curious, they judge you
And whisper as you pass
Regardless of your noble deeds,
Your best intentions have fled you
your mistakes no matter how few
Will bring you to your knees.

But you Harness the Fire
Away to the Fight
Sing to the Sadness
An Ode to the Light

Cloaked now in Silence
Your thoughts are your own
And no one can ever understand,
What it takes to carry
The burden, the weight so very
it would crush any other man.

But think of the Times
In camaraderie you grasped
each other as brothers and with love,
Try not to think
the end's on the brink
And will find you crying out to heaven above.

So Scream at the Wind
and Scream at the Night
Scream to your Madness
An Ode to the Light

And one day they'll find you
Old, and not long for this earth
They'll say how you walked the good path,
A week of this Shit and all
of the blood and tears that won't fall
They know nothing of heartbreak and damn sure not wrath.

But with Sword held high,
You do what is right
Even though you wish it weren't so,
Because of how you failed
That ship has done sailed
Now your brother's blood reddens the snow.

And the tears will flow
Because of what brought us to this
Two brothers on opposite sides,
You'll push love away
And never be okay
And the sadness breaks against you in tides.

So, Piss on the Wind
And piss on my Heart
I don't have the will to Fight,
Pour me a drink
And please release me
From my private Ode to the Night.

A Blade in my gut,
A blade in my hand
Any blade that's within sight
Shove it right in
Maybe I'll feel something then
Why did you Run to the Night?
Why did you Sing to the Night?
Oh brother, Why must I follow the Light?

Lack of Posts

2008-07-08T09:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts - just dealing with school and work right now... both are kind of a pain.

The good news is that the short story is done, well has been done for a long time anyway, and is just waiting on me to revise.

The question is when I'll have time to do it.

In the meantime, I highly suggest watching a movie called Hancock. Don't let the negative reviews fool you - yes, it's a short, simple kind of movie but, and this is a big one, it's a whole lot of fun. So seriously, go for it.

I'll get the finalized version of The Devil on Flight 1661 as soon as I can. Which might be a while.

Peace!

Disclaimer

2008-01-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

Everything here is in Raw, unedited format when it comes to samples and excerpts.

What you see is a direct copy/paste from the first draft in it's original form. Because of that there are errors in almost everything. Sometimes you'll see an "if" that's supposed to be an "in", or some such thing.

So, take everything you read with a grain of salt, nothing's in "final" form by any means.

On that note, enjoy!

The Creature on the Wing

2008-01-24T22:39:00.000-08:00

It's been a while with no updates. School's been tough this season, but I have got something to post.

This is yet *another* excerpt from "The Devil on Flight 1661". In it, Tom is thinking about when he had decided that Love was what he felt for his friend Jen. A strange voice enters his head and the 767 (changed from the original DC-10) enters a bad Thunderstorm.

The Thunderstorm shakes up the plane, and maybe a little more.

Watching the lightening dance in the sky, Tom see's something that could not be.

Read on to find out:

"... But the problem with saying that was, of course, Rhonda. How did he truly feel about his wife? He felt that he still loved her; he just wasn’t in love with her. Those first few months he meant to talk to his wife, to tell her how he felt, to make an honest attempt to get back to where they started.

But each time he tried, he couldn’t find the right words, and before Tom realized what had happened, it was simply easier to live the double life. He was a seemingly caring, loving husband in one, and completely enamored with Jen in another. He was lying to everyone, including himself and he knew it, but it didn’t matter. When he was near Jen, when they shared a hug of concern or a smile or a flirt, the only thing that existed in the whole world was her.

And that left Rhonda out in the cold didn’t it? A voice inside Tom’s head was asking.

Shut up. Tom was used to battling with himself, and his inner dialog often scared him. How many crazies out there were doing that same thing?

He couldn’t be too crazy though, after all he’d been to a shrink many times and the only they ever did was give him pills. Everyone takes pills, don’t they?

You’re a monster, Tom. You broke that girl’s heart. Maybe both of them, the voice chided.

Yeah, I know. Both voices were the same, yet somehow different. Tom could always tell them apart. He always figured the voice was what people were referring to when they talked about their conscious.

But the voice was different now. It was darker, somehow mean, almost cruel.

Do you?

But tome never finished the thought. The plane shook suddenly, for the briefest of moments Tom thought it was falling out of the sky. Startled people woke from their sleep, necks stiff and legs tingling. The baby in the back started up again.

With an audible ding the seat belt sign came back on.

“This is the Captain we’re turning on the seatbelt sign and asking that you remain in your seats, looks like we’ve ran into a thunderstorm. We’re trying to get clearance for a higher altitude out of the turbulence but until then, please stay seated. Thank you.”

The engines whined as they spun up to throttle. Flashes of light outside Tom’s window told him that they had indeed flown right into a storm. From the amount of lightening it looked like a big one too.

Tom rested his chin against his fist and watched the lightening dance outside his window. The wing blocked most of his view but he could see a good portion of sky behind it.

The lightening played from cloud to cloud; the bursts of white fire burned into Tom’s tired eyes. The lightening would strike and then disappear, but he image remained in his retinas. It was majestic, the dark clouds billowing out all around them, the lightening shooting through the air; a ballerina on a stage of soft cotton. Night turned to day in Tom’s viewport. The largest bolt Tom had ever seen blazed across the sky, its tendrils reached out like fingers to all the other clouds granting each one its electric touch. Tom thought it was beautiful; the last wild soul left of the planet.

That’s when he saw the creature on the wing. ..."

Hope you enjoyed this excerpt, more as it comes in my mind. Soon, Tom will face himself, his failures, his sins, and the demon that is his soul.

Peace.

The Devil on Flight 1661

2008-01-14T08:59:00.000-08:00

Okay,

So I know I really should be working on the novel that a friend and I are doing, but I got the short story stuck in my head and, unfortunately for the other book, Tay will have to wait a couple more days.

Or maybe not so unfortunate, however you look at it. At least somethings getting down on paper.

So I spent from 7pm to about 10:30, minus a phone call and getting up to pee/change the laundry just writing out this "short" story. I'm right at nine pages now and I put out over 3900 words last night alone.

I think it's going very well.

So far we've met Tom, Rhonda and his mistress, or would be mistress, Jen. I say "would be" because before anything can happen, Rhonda finds out about Tom's infidelity and calls his hotel room.

Here's a snip it from that scene, it's *VERY* raw, and very first draft, so keep in mind it's not "Final" by any means.

"...

But Tom didn’t take Jen to dinner. Instead, before he finished getting ready, the phone rang. The voice on the other end was strained with emotion; sorrow, stress, fear and most obvious – anger.

But there was no mistaking who the voice belonged to.

“You have a lot of explaining to do when you get home. I found your email you son of a bitch.”

Click.

Tom just stood there, in a daze, his entire world crashing down on him. His fragile shell fractured and collapsing, blood rushing to his eyes and it seemed like everything had turned red. His heart raced and he broke out in a cold anxious sweat, the room was spinning and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of an acute need to vomit. ... "

So there you have it - a portrait of a man who's been making bad choices... and it's all crashing down around him.

He really has no idea how bad it is... because as the jetliner rockets towards the crumbling ruins of his home... all hell is about to break loose, literally. Then Tom will know what he's really made of.. and if he's lucky, if he's really lucky, the truth behind who he really is and what he's done to those who love him the most.

More to come...

Ideas, ideas, ideas

2008-01-10T13:48:00.000-08:00

There are so many stuck in my head right now.

One in particular is a short story about a guy named Tom, and he's on an airplane. Tom is on an airplane because his wife found some emails talking about his romantic interests with a co-worker, whom he is with on a business trip and is planning on hooking up with physically.

Tom's wife calls, and confronts him. So he does what any guy would do - he books the next flight home. He technically hasn't done anything wrong - yet. But his sin is his emotional affair, and the intent that, if his wife hadn't called, he'd be lying next to his "crush".

His dilemma is he has to decide what he wants - his wife of ten years who has never done anything to hurt him, or this "new" girl who he can't seem to get past.

On the plane, he notices a strange man, thinking nothing of it, he goes on about his own business. However, halfway through the flight, Tom starts to receive premonitions about the fate of the aircraft and next thing he knows, the plane is crashing.

Or is it?

Tom finds himself in a face off with the strange man on board a suddenly empty DC-10, screaming towards the earth in flames.

He can choose to allow his future and his family crash with the plane... or he can fight.

Either way, sink or swim, Tom must face his demons and make the choices that matter most in life - To honor and protect the one he swore his life to all those years ago, or to forsake everything for a chancy escape into another woman's arms.

As with most things Tom will find it's the fight that matters most.

I'll post it as soon as I can get it down.