First real battle of Book #2

It wasn’t until the great axe became unsheathed and was being passed from left to right hand that the maniacal laughter replaced the talking to himself. Still the dwarf’s gaze remained fixed on the journey already behind them and an element of concern crept into Coefly’s mind as he tried to see what it was the dwarf had become obsessed with, but could see nothing.

“Hey Rohlen,” he shouted trying to get the mage’s attention. “Any idea what’s sparked the dwarf into life?”
He gave the pair a half hearted glance not expecting to see anything other than Tumbor being Tumbor, however he soon gave the situation his full attention having recognised one of the dwarf’s pre rituals before battle. Even Jax, over hearing Corfly’s original comments, shifted into a concerned state and began scanning the horizon behind them.

“What tracks us Tumbor?”

“Half breeds,” The dwarf spits heavily in disgust upon the floor beside him. “Not human, and not hound. Abominations of dark evil magic and they run hard to catch us.”

“Since Breakwater?”

“Hard to say, but if so, they left not long after us which would suggest someone’s sold their soul in providing such information!”

Jax placed a hand on Tumbor’s shoulder forcing him to momentarily stop passing his axe from hand to hand which resulted in a fixed glare from the dwarf,

“You as well as anyone my friend, should recall all too well the manipulative and persuasive nature of dark magic!”

“It is a memory that will follow me to my tomb friend and one in which I vowed would never be repeated to anyone associated with me for fear of death. Death that will surly come to those that unknowingly now race towards it!”

“Tumbor I understand the thirst in you, the bloodlust that builds in wanting to see these creatures whimpering at the mercy of your blade, but please remember we are on a mission for information. If you could curb your temper enough to allow us one to talk to.”

“You claim to understand, yet you ask me under the intensity and revelry of battle to hold my blade against a foe that would show no such constraint. May I suggest you choose your informant quickly Jax DuPont, and you pull them from the mayhem before my blade silences them, you or both.”

It was with that statement, as cold and as yet clear as it could have been, Tumbor with axe in hand leapt from the back of the wagon, landing in a squatted crouch ready to explode off to meet those advancing upon him. That which followed never failed in raising the hairs upon the back of the neck of those that heard it, and never failed in whipping the dwarf into a maniacal frenzy, Tumbor’s battle cry!

Those that the dwarf has been following from afar, had now become close enough to be seen by the others in the group. Sleek black muscular bodies, running upon all four much like a hound, and yet appearing to be more human in form, save for the elongated muzzle that dripped heavily with saliva, and occasionally flashed a sight of the razor sharp teeth that dominated the mouth. Their naked upper torsos were adorned with patches of course black hair, very reminiscent of fur found on hunting hounds.

Coefly reaching for his short bow, took aim with an arrow notched shaking in his hand. Nerves were getting the better of him. Easily understandable given the man-hound was over twice his size, with a jaw that looked like it could snap him in half with one bite. The arrow struck the front shoulder, biting deep and causing the creature stumble in its stride, though it regained quickly eyeing the halfling with evil intent.
Rolen predictably called upon the power of his dragons, causing them to pulsate and convulse around his out stretched arms. Slowly they shifted in intensity from a sunflower yellow through to a deep crimson as they awaited the mage’s command to let fly. Jax prepared the others by warning them to hold tight!

As expected, the ethereal creatures sprung up high into the air from the mage’s arms, seemingly dancing and entwining with each other, almost impatiently awaiting their creator’s command, who in turn had been awaiting the dwarf to announce his arrival upon the conflict. It came with an earth shaking and blood curdling impact, the sound of bone shattering heard above all else. Leading with his shoulder, Tumbor hit the creature head on with the force of a dwarven siege engine, sending jaw bone, blood and saliva spraying outward from the impact. The creature itself found itself in a whelping heap several feet away from the impact, a merciless dwarf stood over its prone broken body with a large blade ready to deal a swift demise. A demise that did not come.

Behind the dwarf, two ethereal entities came spiralling earthward, slamming into the beast that Coefly had first wounded, sending a spray of molten lava and fire all over the beast. Its agonised cries of pain were almost too much to bear, as it tried to stand, charred chucks of flesh falling effortlessly from its frame. Too weak to continue, it slumped in a heap panting heavily trying to get air into its parched lungs. If time was merciful, it would bring an end to this poor creature’s suffering.

Tumbor always had a sixth sense it battle, knowing where he was, his companions and every impending blade or talon. He immediately left his quarry, instead turning his attentions to another than had been prowling since the initial impact, stopping its charge on the wagon, instead turning its attention to the dwarf. The two were now almost face to face, only a small rocky preface between them, the hound looking down on the dwarf with spit and bile falling upon his face and beard. Reaching up, he grabbed the beast by the throat and manoeuvred its head away from his own, he also found leverage to bring himself more eye to eye.

“So many questions I have, yet so many answers you’ll never give me.” said the dwarf in as menacing a tone he could muster. The creature squirmed, possible fear flashing across his eyes as Tumbor gripped a little tighter around it’s windpipe. Linn had been watching as everything unfolded. Jax had taken down of the creatures alone and was now busy cleaning the blood and bile from his blade. So quietly efficient as he, his contributions had gone unnoticed by all. Coefly and Rohlen were sat discussing the theatrical nature of magic and how spectacular the two dragons were in both effect and visually. Whilst Coefly was indeed a full grown halfling of several decades, his enthusiasm resembled that of a small child.

Tumbor on the other hand was the epitome of war and death. With one quarry grounded and well within striking distance, he held another by the throat seemingly being toyed with, and it was this one Linn wanted to get answers from. Carefully she descended the wagon from the spot she had remained the entire encounter, though by her own admission she had no fighting experience or skills to offer the others and so she had remained hidden as best she could.

“Come to take a look at what we’re fighting against have you?” said Tumbor presenting the beast to the cautious yet still advancing Linn, though as she appeared to get a little too close the creature attempted a lunge, only failing due to the dwarf’s tight grip.

“I cannot read his mind!” declared Linn staring intently at the beast.

“He’s not one for talking either,” grimaced Tumbor, “So he’ll no longer be needing this.” He ragged the creature violently in the air, still holding on tightly to its windpipe, before slamming it into the ground. Placing a boot upon its chest, he continued to pull until the windpipe tore through its neck and chest, blood and bile showering Linn and Tumbor in the process.

“Try the other one,” suggested Tumbor wiping his beard. “Maybe recent events may have loosened his tongue a little.”

Still in a state of abhorrent shock at the gruesome violence shown by the dwarf, seemingly with little or no remorse, she shuffled her feet over to the Tumbor’s first quarry. It lay breathing heavily, its face a bloodied pulp of mashed cartilage and broken bone. It tried to move as she drew near, but whelped in pain suggesting broken ribs or internal injuries and so remained instead, prone on the floor.

“Well, is it telling you anything?” shouted Tumbor continuing to clean himself as Jax joined them.

“I too would be intrigued as to whether their minds are susceptible to your reading them,” added Jax.

“Sadly all this one is parting with, is how he hopes to live long enough to see his kin folk rip the dwarven maniac apart and feast upon this organs!”

Tumbor laughed lightly and nodded a couple of times. Yet with one fluid movement his axe blade fell across the neck of the beast, separating what was left of his head from his torso. “No!” he added. “Though it is good to know that you can hear their thoughts, even disillusioned ones!”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


A dark story of history repeating

A male child, born with no given name, to a mother than cried heavily at the mere sight of him. He was forever a contanst reminder of his father that forcefully planted his seed within her virgin womb before disappearing into the depths of night, leaving her shivering and broken. What chance did this child have when even his mother found the sight of him abhorrent? She couldnt love and nourish him, and so he found himself abandoned to the mercy of whoever could.

He was named Samuel by the elderly woman that would call herself mother, though he refused to accept either. He fought her love, rebelled against the sanctuary of homeliness she’d created for him. The years of his growing were a constant struggle, and yet she refused to abandon him as his mother had. Even when his school refused to educate him she stayed at home in order to school him.

He resented and despised her, and yet with each passing year an infatuation grew within him. There was something within his DNA that compelled him to obsess over being around her at inappropriate times. He would spy through the keyhole as she undressed, and yet would refuse to join her at the table come tea time.

It was upon a random evening late in the year, rain lashing down upon the panes of glass and the occasional flash of lightening illuminating the otherwise dimly candle lit room that he appeared before her as she was in a state of undress.

Instinctively she cowered away, covering any exposed flesh from his unblinking eyes, and yet he reached out and pulled at her night blouse. As she fought his advances, sharp nails scratched her breasts drawing crimson lines across them. Crying in shock and pain she could do nothing as he exposed them, his hands gripping tightly the area directly around the nipple.

As the tears rolled heavily from her heartbroken eyes, and her requests for him to stop went ignored, he forcefully pushed her backwards onto the bed. She knew what was coming next, and yet was unable to stop it. Pain soared through her body as he entered her. Emotionless he satisfied himself within her as she sobbed uncontrollably, her clothes torn and blood flowing from the wounds received as reward for her attempting to resist.

He said nothing as he left. A dark figure disappearing into the depths of night, leaving behind a broken elderly woman whose womb began preparing for the unwanted gift she’d been given.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Writing Challenge

Story Challenge: Word and Genre suggested by Laura ~ neon hotpants / crime thriller.

“Talk to me Sargent. What have we got?”

The middle aged policeman cleared his throat before addressing the suit clad inspector. Whereas the Sargent was time served and had progressed through the force via hard work and pounding the streets, the inspector was fresh faced and straight from behind some desk at the academy. There was still a mutual respect for their respective rank.

“Another from the homeless community. Male, around thirty year old.”

“That’s the fifth in as many days! Cause of death?”

“Strangulation, the same as the others.”

The inspector nodded as though he’d been expecting the answer and began pacing around as if searching for answers to the questions in his head. “I assume there were no witnesses as before also.”

“Actually,” began the Sargent. “We have a description.”

It was the first time the attack had been seen, or at least the first time anyone had come forward with information. Whilst previous murders had similar characteristics, there had been no viable leads with which to investigate.

“Average build and height, wearing a black hooded and neon hotpants.”

The description had the inspector kicking the ground in frustration.

“Look around you. What do you see? We’re smack bang in the middle of festival season and nearly everyone is wearing neon clothing of some fashion.”

The Sargent remained silent.

“Let us hope the body parts with more helpful clues than your witness.”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


I’m done

I need to make them stop,

The voices and the visions,

I’m going deaf as well as blind,

Yet I cannot shake them.

So I call time,

Close the doors.

Perhaps when I stop listening,

Stop paying attention to them,

They will leave me alone to focus,

Because for now……..I’m done.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


One year on

So thank you wordpress for informing me that it has been one year since that first post. A year in which I grown friendships, and lost friendships. It tells me that there is an obscene number of people following my ramblings, and some of which actually take time out of their busy lives to read, like, and sometimes comment of that which I’ve written.

You all make me feel humbled, and I’m touched and honoured that you would do such a thing.

We finally have a service date for my late mum, may she forever now rest in peace, and whilst I’m still hurting inside, I feel getting back to posting regularly would be want she would want.

I know she was especially proud that I’d realised a dream and had my books published, so I feel I need to honour that fact by pushing on in getting those I’m currently working on, out to a wider audience.

So thank you wordpress family, for staying faithful and with me through my absence, I promise to return towards the end of April with more of what you’ve come to expect and enjoy from me.

My love and light find you always.



Word/Genre Challenge #7

As requested, the word is Axe and the genre Thriller.

The longest short walk

‘I really have to learn to say no,’ thought Amy, locking up the office for the day. Except it was more late evening by the time she finished the extra work her boss had asked of her.

She checked her watch, ‘9 o’clock again! Impressive.’

Her car was parked at the other end of the now empty parking lot, and so she wrapped her coat around herself and began heading towards her car. The night air was cold, but dry, her breath forming tiny plumes that made her look like a puffing dragon. Pursing her lips, she tried to change their shape.

As she walked, the sound of her heels on the asphalt made a repetitive clicking sound, and she became acutely aware that it was being matched by a much more dull, heavier footfall.

Fear began to engulf her thoughts, her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow. The warm plumes of air escaping her lips changed again. She was too afraid to look round, but quickened her pace without it appearing too obvious. She’d watched too many films where the dumb blonde had tried to run, only to fall and witness her own demise.

Her car was tantalisingly close, but so too were the mysterious ‘other’ footsteps. Her heart was beating inexplicably fast, as was her breathing, but she reached into her pocket and pressed the button on her keys to unlock the car. The four indicator lights flashed, illuminating the car park temporarily with an orangey yellow glow.

Closing her eyes, Amy reached out and placed her hand upon the driver’s door handle. A huge sigh of relief expelled from her as she opened it towards her. It was at that moment the blade of a huge axe slammed into her car roof. She screamed out in pure terror, letting go of door and for no logically explainable reason, she turned to see who had wielded the axe.

Her screams were heard by only one other person, his face unrecognisable behind a thick black woollen balaclava.

“Please don’t kill me!” she sobbed uncontrollably, as he removed the axe for where it rested within the car roof.

“I’m not going to kill you Amy. Not this time.” The attacker turned and walked away as she slumped to her knees, shaking and crying. uncontrollably. “Sweet dreams,” he finished without looking back, before then disappearing in the darkness.

Gently it began to rain.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Word/Genre Challenge #4

For this challenge the word was ‘staircase’ (though I re-interpreted this as escalator) and the genre, Horror.

“There was a time when you used to look at me like that,” remarked Cheryl, her husband watching intently a young blonde as she walked towards them.

“I still would if you had a body like that,” he replied without looking away.

“My belly has been a cooker for our three children, my breasts a vessel for them to feed on, and let’s not start on the mess they’ve made downstairs.”

“Yeah Yeah. All I’m saying is you could tone a little.” He couldn’t help but compound the situation by smiling at her as she passed, then continue to turn so as to check her out from the back.

Cheryl muttered something under her breath that sounded complete jibberish, leaving her husband admiring the young female’s arse as it began to disappear down an escalator.

As he turned to catch up with his wife, a chilling scream came from behind him. It was a female’s scream, quickly followed by a multitude of others, and people shouting, “Turn it off! Oh my god turn it off.”

The husband ran to see what all the comotion was, only to stop dead in his tracks as he peered over the escalator edge. His stomach churned as he witnessed the horrifying and sickening sight of the young blonde being mutilated and torn apart by the escalator’s inner mechanisms. Blood and shattered bone littered the steps, as the the poor girl became almost unrecognisable.

Meanwhile, Cheryl smiled as she continued to walk away, taking the occasional opportunity to admire items in some of the shop windows.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Word/Genre Challenge 

I opened up to my FB friends and family once again to offer me a single object and a genre in which to fit it in. First up:

‘Glitter Pen’ in horror genre.

The police had already cornered off much of the street, camera crews from every news network channel vying for a decent lead and/or good position as to film the ensuing events. Parents, those with children that attended the school, we’re being held helpless, distraught and afraid behind the barrier tape, each eagerly waiting upon news of their loved ones.

Within the assembly hall, hundreds of children huddled together shaking, wracked with fear. These were the fortunate ones. Throughout the remaining school lay the unfortunate. Children and teachers alike left where they had fallen, all with the words “You’re out” written in distinctive black and silver ink upon their forehead.

Mr Wallace was the last to fall, a hatchet blow to the back of his head. Kneeling over him, as his dying last breaths weezed from his lungs, a hooded figure scrawled the words upon his brow.

Once written, the figure stood in ominous calm, releasing the safety on two semi-automatic handguns. He had been just several feet from the hall doors.

“Stop! Put down your weapons,” came a voice from back down the hallway. The hooded figure turned.

The sounded of gunshots echoed loudly, followed by screams of terror from behind the closed hall doors. The hooded figure lay prone on the floor, blood seeping into a large pool from where they’d been shot. There was no lingering breath from this one.

With the murderer dead, the police wasted little time in evacuating the fortunate ones from the school, ambulance crews ready to assist those hurt or in severe shock, before then reuniting them with their loved ones.

Unnoticed amongst the eagerness to flee the scene of such horrors, a young male adjust his uniform so as to conceal a black and silver ink glitter pen.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Sordid Affair 18+ NSFW

The drive home from work was long and tiresome, the rain made visibility poor adding to the increasing sense of an impending headache. I was ready to kick off my shoes, pour myself a scotch and settle down within the embrace of my loving wife. Upon opening the door I was confronted by unusual silence. Normally there would be the sound of her awful taste in music, or some reality show she’d been watching. I kept my shoes on and entered the living room, where both the stereo and TV were off. Instead, sitting on the coffee table was my laptop with a post-it note stuck to the screen. I simply read, “I know”.

Turning on the laptop I was confronted with a series of pictures, some more increasingly risqué than others. She’d discovered my one secret, and I feared the outcome. Searching the drawer of the side unit presented me with even more emotional fear. My gun was missing. If she knew who was in those photos, then that was where she’d be. I ran from the house and drove without care for the road conditions or the level of visibility. My only thought was to reach them both.

*   *   *

“That’s the bra in this photo!” she screamed throwing both to the floor. “And that’s the one in this one.”

“I’m sure there are hundreds of women with exactly the same ones!” replied a second woman, begging on her knees.

“Oh and I suppose those same women just so happen to have the same vibrator as well do they?” The gun was pointed now directly at the kneeling woman’s head as she sobbed uncontrollably.

*   *   *

When I arrived the front door was wide open, a sure sign something was wrong. Inside and I heard the recognisable screams of abuse coming from my wife, interspersed with another sobbing. I ran to the master bedroom where they both were and flung open the door.

“NO!” I shouted at seeing my wife pressing a gun up against the temple of my lover.

“Well there’s the admission right there,” said my wife turning the gun upon me. “Get naked the both of you!”

My lover and I momentarily looked at each other, then began removing out clothes.

“On your knees,” my wife demanded, gesturing where she wanted me with the gun. “Now you, suck his cock!”

My lover hesitated, more from shock than disgust at what had been asked of her. The gun nestled back in her temple soon had her obeying her command. I tried not to allow myself to be excited, but her warm wet lips around my shaft was too much. My lover must have figured that if this was how she was going to die, she’d make the most of it, as her tongue stroked across the head of my cock, before the sliding down the shaft as it hardened down her throat.

“Now bite it!” whispered my wife in her ear. “Bite deep until his blood begins to fill that cock sucking mouth of yours.” She pressed the gun a little harder into the side of her head as a way of telling her what would happen if she didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as her teeth sank into my erect shaft. Blood immediately began pouring from where they’d punctured the skin.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum in her mouth!”

Satisfied with the level of pain I was enduring, tears now filling my own eyes, she barked her next instructions,

“Now fuck her!”

My lover stood and positioned herself on the edge of the bed, my blood still dripping from the corners of her mouth. I was surprised to see that she had been aroused as I had, her shaven pussy glistening and inviting. As I offered by still bleeding cock, and her lips devoured it, the pain was unbearable. The burning sensation tore through my body as I slowly fucked her.

“Harder!” came the command, and so through gritted teeth I fucked her for all I was worth. There was no passion, no lust. I just thrust that cock deep inside her until natural events took over and we both climaxed.

“Now suck her breasts!” demanded my wife. I leaned down from between her legs and took one of them into my mouth. “Now bite it off!”

“NO!” I said pulling myself away. “You can hurt me all you want, but I won’t hurt her.”

“Too bad!” she replied, pointing the gun and shooting my love in the head.

Blood splattered the walls, as her body convulsed with the impact, before dying almost instantly. I screamed her name as rage, anger and sorrow consumed me, then a feeling of numbness overwhelmed me. My sight began to fail as I slumped heavily to the floor, deconstructing events in my mind as to why the pain and hurt had left me. There was another gunshot, and I watched as my wife fell to the floor, dropping the gun in the process. Nothing seemed real, was this some kind of twisted nightmare. Everything went black.

Through my heartache at seeing my lover ripped from me, I’d missed the second bullet. The one that now ended this sordid affair.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown