Category Archives: Stories

Excerpt: Prologue to The Storm of Northreach

Before I finished the end, I looped back to the beginning.

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The tree branch digging into his buttocks was uncomfortable, but Ajen was barely conscious of that now.  He had planned to give Alys a little scare when she arrived for their tryst on Dane’s Knoll by climbing up the massive silver-barked tree that rose from it.  When she arrived, he was going to let her mill about the trunk for a time, let her build up a good bit of worry, then leap down and surprise her.  He’d anticipated getting a good slap out of it, but she’d be grateful for arms to wrap around her and make her feelings of fright go away. Read the rest of this entry

Blamers – A Short Zombie Story

That short story idea I mentioned?  I carved some time today to bang it out.

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There’s a lot to hate about the world today.  I mean, between the lack of electricity, horrendous snarls of traffic from abandoned cars, the total absence of a friendly face, and hordes of disgusting rotting cannibalistic walking corpses  – let’s face it, there isn’t much to be happy about.  Unless you count being alive in the face of all this, which is sort of a mixed curse and a blessing when all is said and done. Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 10 Excerpt from The Storm of Northreach

Possible title change?  You bet!  As always, unedited and probably bad.

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To the east of Northreach Town and Tower, one of the Baron’s subjects, a man Rig Anders had never met and now would never get the chance to stumbled along in the slogging mud and rain.  Mogedin Vane, Mog to most of the residents of Pellslook while they yet lived, Boggy Moggy to his closest friends due to an unfortunate incident as a youth, leaned far forward as he half-ran and half-stumbled along, perpetually on the verge of pitching forward and using that momentum to carry him forward.  From time to time he overdid it, pitching onto his face and putting another coat of mud on his already-caked body.  At least the wet ground was soft, since he was unwilling to use his arms to keep his face out of the muck during the inevitable times he stumbled and fell. Read the rest of this entry

Me and My Scale

I sigh as I walk through the door, trying to prepare myself.  My hands are a little clammy, which is ridiculous, but I can’t help but feel nervous.  I clear my throat as I approach, trying to project confidence.

He doesn’t look at me as I approach, his eyes in the middle distance looking at nothing that I myself can see, offering only his profile.  He is immaculately dressed, his tuxedo perfect in every way save one: his tie is slightly loosened.  The perfection of every other stitch makes it obvious that this is deliberate, his way of showing just the slightest tweak of contempt for us all.  His dark hair looks oiled and smells vaguely of raspberry vinaigrette, and his aquiline nose hangs just slightly over the line that demarks arrogance. Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 7 Excerpt from The Storm of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

The rain sizzled into a hissing cloud of steam as it struck the remaining embers of what had once been a temple.  The grounds, once sanctified in the name of Ban, were now a charnel pit, blackened bones covered in gobbets of charred flesh poking from the wreckage like the thorns of a nightmare. Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 6 Excerpt from The Storm of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

See previous excerpts for warnings of poor grammar and writing.

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Kurgen and Turgeson stood at sloppy attention in the barren antechamber in front of what was known as the corporal’s office. They could hear him scribbling away at something at his desk while they stood quietly waiting. The corporal’s page, named Page, smirked insolently at them as he leaned against a wall. The twelve-year-old boy was the insufferable understudy of their commanding officer, and many a night the brothers had drunkenly come up with ways to torture the ever-present smirk off the brat’s face. Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 5 Excerpt from The Siege of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

New material time! Again, not edited, probably bad.

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Lieutenant Villios called the troop to a halt at Boulden’s gesture. He told the sergeants to get their troops armored and ready, then moved over to where the commander was looking over the map of Northreach with Herndin. Boulden’s thick-knuckled finger was settled on a spot north of Anticus, labeled in a spidery hand with the name of Brethford.

“That’s it,” the commander said, “first place we’ve reached that the Baron’s boy mentioned as a possibility. We might not find a damn thing, in fact that’s what I‘m hoping for. But I want to be ready for anything.” Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 4 Excerpt from The Siege of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

Insert standard disclaimer of no editing here.

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Dam surveyed the wreckage that his home had become. As he’d feared, his slide into the canyon had made it impossible for him to give warning to his fellow villagers in time, and devastation looked complete. The temple had burned, taking the nearby houses with it, and from the quantity of blackened corpses within the smoking ruin, it looked like most of the village had burned inside with it. Read the rest of this entry

Chapter 3 Excerpt from The Siege of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

Standard disclaimer: unedited and probably rotten.

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On the far side of the city, a pair of guards in ill-fighting and cracked leather armor studied the dust cloud approaching them. Already the day had become infinitely more interesting than any they’d experienced before, guarding the least-used gate in the entire city. The gate itself was almost never opened during their tenure, since they used the sally port to get to their station outside the city. Indeed, the only time it was opened was when one particular merchant took a wagon out in spring, and came back months later.

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Chapter 2 Excerpt from The Siege of Anticus: A Zombie Fantasy Novel

As before, this excerpt is heavily unedited. It is a flashback of the aftermath of the attack on Daneswall.

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The flames from the burning town behind Comrick set the planes of his son’s face shifting constantly, giving him the look of a stranger. The old man kept trying to count how many survivors ranged ahead, but the half-panicked and struggling mass ahead of him defied his attempts. Those last moments in the church resurfaced in his mind, over and over, the sacrifice of two men whom he’d come to love sending tears to eyes still stinging from smoke. The desire to honor that heroism kept his legs moving even more than the fear of being caught by the shambling remnants of the horde.

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