I haven't used this blog for absolutely ages. It never got off the ground anyway, but I've been having ideas for what I can do. Having a long story in a blog is difficult to organise, as well as being terribly difficult for the reader to view. I was thinking of writing a number of short (and very short) stories which are all interlinked in some way. I stalled on IGHOH as my life became insanely busy - respite is beginning to appear in small doses. IGHOH will still be happening in the future, though I don't know whether this would be suitable for a blog format.

Boo.

Yes, I have been away from my blog for five weeks - unfortunately I have had to be busy with other things. I've still devoted some time to writing my next parts which will be up soon!

Note - Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

Dear reader,

Thank you for taking interest in this here story I'm writing. This is a short note just to let you know what I'm doing. As you can see, there's parts of the story going online every now and then for you to read.

Each part isn't the finished article - I do read through and quickly edit each section before I publish it here, but there'll need to be more work than this before I'd even attempt to get something professional done. Please read, enjoy and more importantly, tell me what you think of it!

Positive and constructive critique is always welcomed.

Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

“Let’s find you some threads.”

Wolagnub had left for a while and returned with a grey cloak, as ordinary looking as you could get. When he did, he found that Grimchan had stripped himself completely bare, which was a very sickening sight to see, a grey and emaciated body, ribs sticking out, pattered with terrible purple scars.

“You’re a bit eager.”
“You’re not perturbed by my appearance?”
“I’m a doctor, I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. Things like... like this tend to not shock me.”
“I don’t know whether to feel humbled or offended by that. Even without a flash of my power, men have trembled at the mere sight of me. Anyway, step back.”
“No problem.”

Grimchan summoned a multitude of small, dark green balls of magical energy that zipped around his person, blurrily orbiting at furious speed, each pass cleaning his skin of the layers of grime and odour that had built up over time.

When he had finished, he still looked the same shade of taupe grey that he had started off with, yet his eyes had temporarily glazed over with an obsidian sheen.

“Impressive.”
“For years, I had to put up with someone sponging me down with cold, soapy water. So mundane. And at least I know my powers have fully returned. If my appearance does not frighten you, then my prowess surely will. What have you brought to clothe me?”
“Well, I borrowed this cloak from someone’s room, it was the most evil looking one I could find at short notice. It’s the thought that counts, I thought.”
“It will do.”

Grimchan’s outstretched hand snatched and pulled the cloak towards him through the air, so that he could casually put it on. The cloak was a few sizes too big, and the cloak’s hood flopped down, covering his head with shadow.

“This will pass for... decent.”
“Then let’s go and shock ‘em.”

Back to the present, one of the wizards who’d taken his leave with Cafus and the others peeped back around the door and asked in a very eloquent and posh voice:

“Oh excuse me. Sorry. Has anyone seen my spare cloak? No? It’s grey and a little bit oversized. Anyone? Alright then, bye again! Sorry, sorry.”

He was such a nice person, but just a little unlucky. Such a pity that he once bought a spare cloak that could be construed as “a little bit evil”. Even though someone like Grimchan could make the most innocent of clothes look evil instantly. Though I doubt that Grimchan would dress himself, for example, in a pink fairy princess’ dress to prove a point. And hold a wand with a sparkly star on the end.

That nice wizard popped his head around the door again.

“Excuse me... erm... Grimchan is it? I believe that you may have my cloak.”
“This is MY cloak.”
“Would you mind if I could just check the name tag inside a moment?”

As the hapless wizard approached, Grimchan pulled the hood back, so he could reach inside and tear out the name tag inside. He read it out aloud.

“Ennius Askerjian?”
“Yes, that’s my name.”

Grimchan casually dropped the name tag onto the floor and stared right at the wizard with a sly grin.

“What was your name tag doing on my cloak?”
“I beg your pardon? That’s-”
“I SAID what was your name tag doing on my cloak?”
“But that’s... but that’s m-m-m-my... I’m sorry!”
“Get out.”
“OK, I’m leaving!”

The colour had completely drained from that wizard’s face, who had foolishly dared to confront the evil sorcerer, who indeed had nicked his cloak and had no intention of giving it back. Dejected and desperate to hold onto some wee, the beaten old man left.

It had brought everyone else to complete silence.

“Well, will anyone tell me what’s going on?” Grimchan demanded, as if nothing had just happened.
“I will.” Offered Ardnal, “But I will limit this for now to simply what exactly is preventing us from obtaining outside help. It would take far too long to explain everything that has happened. People are dying as we waste time here. If you would join me, Grimchan, we will ascend so you can see it for yourself.”

The party gathered at the top of the tower, where a cold wind blew past. Grimchan gazed skyward at overcast cloud.

“Can you feel it in the air?” Ardnal shouted.
“I can feel something. Let me concentrate for a moment!”

They waited as Grimchan attempted to sense the world around him, and the shield above them. He stood there, licked his finger and raised it in the air, then turned to stare at Ardnal, the other wizards and Doctor Wolagnub.

As the wind howled, Grimchan had to shout above the noise.

“These attackers are particularly cunning. They’re fooled each and every one of you. There’s no way of breaching the barrier you call a shield with conventional knowledge. If you want me to summarise for you, they have used your gods and your magics against you. I’ve got a theory. They kidnapped wizards, right?”
“We heard many stories of wizards being taken prisoner.” Ardnal replied.
“And priests, and others who profess to using magic?”
“That is also true.”
“They’re using them. I think they have convinced gods themselves to create this barrier to protect this planet from outsiders. This is the magic of good people, and so strong is this barrier, maintained by what must be thousands of people or more, that any good magics cast upon it would fail, and be absorbed into the barrier itself. I’m impressed.”
“This is what we feared. But there is a flaw in your theory. The gods would never work for evil forces.”
“Our enemy controls the wizards, priests and the like, yet our enemy isn’t the one doing the speaking and praying. The gods have failed you. But as people like me understand, your gods are not all powerful. And in some cases, have their direct adversaries we can exploit.”
“You want to raise demons? There’s enough evil around as it is, Grimchan.”
“Not to raise them, but to exploit them. The barrier can be disrupted temporarily via a kind of feedback loop.”
“Very plausible. What do you require?”
“I want five clay bowls, ten pints of blood and some paintbrushes.”

Suddenly, someone burst through the door very angrily and stomped his way to the top of the tower. Lord Pommenby had finally arisen, and was not at all his jovial self today. In fact, he was fuming and just stood there with his fists clenched so hard, his knuckles were white. He burst into a tirade.

“I demand to know what is going on! Anyone? Why have most of the wizards gone? Why is HE out of his cell?” he shouted, pointing firmly at Grimchan.

Ardnal scowled, “If you weren’t so under the influence of alcohol, then you would have known why. Sigbie Rondar is dead. And his dying wish was to have Grimchan released. Most of the wizards didn’t want to work with him, so they took their leave. My Lord, what were YOU doing when this happened?”

Lord Pommenby scowled back from betwixt gritted teeth.

“That’s not for you to bring up. I have been lenient on you all here, and this is how I am repaid. I will not let this tower, which has been in my family for fourteen generations, be subject to dark magics!”

“Erm, can I speak now?” Grimchan demanded.
“One way or another, you will end up back in that cell.”
“Lord Pommenby. Oh gracious Lord Pommenby. Exactly how do you propose to stop me?”
“With everything I have. Sudustra Kevaronics!”

Lord Pommenby had unleashed a fireball from his hands at Grimchan the size of a basketball. Grimchan casually patted the fireball away with the back of his hand, knocking it into the sky.

“You’ll have to do better than that. If it’s a fight you want, I’m more than happy to take you on, after being your trophy for a few years. But then, you always took pride for someone else’s work, I hear.”

“Gentlemen!” Ardnal bellowed with his palms outstretched, gesturing both of them to stop. “This is no time for petty arguments. My Lord, the dark sorcerer is not your enemy, and fighting between ourselves only gives our true enemy strength. Consider that Grimchan has neither attacked any of us, or fled. He genuinely wants to help.”
“This man, or at least he used to be a man, cannot possibly be trusted, you idiot! Furthermore, I do NOT have to be lectured by you!”
“Well, then. If you refuse to let us continue our work, I will have to ask you to leave.”
“I think you are mistaken, Ardnal, if you think I will give up MY tower so easily!”

Ardnal unsheathed a straight, scarlet wand and pointed it at Lord Pommenby.

“This is my last warning, my Lord.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I will.”
“I don’t believe you would.”

With a quick flourish of his wand, a ball of grey goo spat out, which encapsulated Lord Pommenby within a sticky web. Struggling against the elastic, he toppled over onto his side and made a pathetic attempt to free himself.

“No, I would. Please do keep quiet, now.”

Ardnal turned to Grimchan.

“Just in case you wondered, dark sorcerer, I didn’t do that to impress you.”

They set out on the task of finding the equipment and ingredients that Grimchan asked for. The five clay bowls and the brushes were easily found, though the ten pints of blood proved to be more difficult. There weren’t any animals in storage to bleed, and any stored meat had either been dried or salted. Still, blood was always best fresh, and this proved quite a conundrum for this group of wizards, until one young wizard piped up all of a sudden:

“Why don’t we use our own blood?”

Doctor Wolagnub suddenly found himself in demand. Now, Witch Doctors tend to have a dual profession of sorts, namely curing people from magical curses or possessions, and also from more mundane (but no less life threatening) conditions. It seemed to be at the moment that the latter tended to be more the case than the former, as if he were just some doctor. How boring must that be?

How he came to be of use ended up being the person who would be draining volunteering wizards of a pint of blood each, with other wizards being on hand with drinks and sugary food. By good fortune, one of the wizards happened upon a lovely fruit cake, intended for Lord Pommenby. Besides, someone a bit too rotund like him could do with a little less cake now and then.

Soon, they were back with the blood. Grimchan wanted a pentagram painted with the blood, with the five clay bowls filled with more blood at each point. He then spent a little time speaking with Ardnal, then soon after that, five wizards were selected at random to stand over each bowl, with a staff raised in the air each.

Grimchan stood in the centre, ready to begin the spell. Down below, Ardnal strutted about as if he now owned the place, making the occasional glance at Lord Pommenby, who sat cuffed on the floor with the Stone of Submission around his neck. Surprisingly, Grimchan never requested that.

Ardnal stared down at him.

“It never had to be this way, you know. But don’t worry, I have everything under control.”

Pommenby struggled to retort.

“Ev...ev...everything apart from... Grimchan.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s too much to worry about there. I understand him. When you’ve been in politics as long as I, you learn to read people. You, my friend, are beneath me. And believe me, I’ve had my fair share of the aristocracy.”

© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009

Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

Ardnal voiced his opinion as the other wizards chose to remain silent. Well, as if it were a choice, looking straight at this evil figure they all recognised and feared. Some of them physically shivered in his presence. Others could have done something else involuntarily and hoped that everyone else wouldn’t notice the smell.

“It seems that this choice has been made for us, then. If you are here to kill us, then you underestimate the power of we wizards.” Ardnal boomed.
“Nothing of the sort. I recognise... some... of the faces here, many of you arrested me. I have come to... lend a hand as it were.”

Grimchan then walked (though it appeared he was gliding) into the centre of the room, where Trenzar, Cafus and Ardnal stood.

“You’ve been discussing me, haven’t you?” he enquired, with a sly grin to his face.

Trenzar replied hurriedly, “Well, yes we have. Rondar’s dead. His dying wish was that you be released.”
“I know. The witch doctor told me. He said that you lot would be debatating the matter for hours and eventually do nothing. So the best thing would be to surprise you all. I like him already.”
Cafus curtly interjected, “Well, thanks for turning up but we don’t need you, so if you would kindly go back to your cell?”
“No, I don’t think I will. This place here is much nicer than those dungeons. Besides, I’m all washed and clean now. Anyway.” Grimchan raised his voice so that all could hear him, “All those who refuse to work with me, leave now!”
“I think I will!” Cafus replied, “Furthermore, I’m leaving the tower. I’m going to take as many of us out of here as possible. We’ll find somewhere else safe, don’t you worry. Seems there are plenty of places safer than here now.”

Cafus turned to Ardnal.

“Ardnal. I implore you to join me. Your knowledge would be of great use to us.”
“My place is here for the time being, Cafus.”
“Well-well, fine then!”

Cafus stomped away towards the door in a hissy fit, stopping momentarily before Doctor Wolagnub to lecture him briefly.

“When this is all over, and if you so happen to survive, I will personally hunt you down. You have my word!”

The other wizards were more hesitant when it came to thinking of leaving, however, one by one, wizards began to walk out, with Wolagnub saying “Bye!” to each of them as they walked through the door. Eventually, barely half of the wizards originally there had now left.

“What are we going to do then?” one of these wizards asked Grimchan.
“I want you to tell me everything that’s happened so far. What we are up against, and what you’re tried against it.”
“We do have one question. How did the doctor release you?”

Grimchan beckoned Wolagnub over from the door.

“Come.”
“I think this is one of these flashback moments.” Said Doctor Wolagnub.

The story flashed back to an hour ago, where Spinson, recovering from a bit of a hangover, was currently sweeping up the floor. For this was a clean dungeon. And his deputy, a half-arsed wizard, had spilled ash from his pipe everywhere. For the cheek of him, he even left his fantasy book about wheeled mechanical marvels here to read later, as if he owned the place.

At one time, these jail cells were completely full with all kind of magic-using criminals. Now, they held merely one. Spinson even used to have a small team of gaolers but now even they had gone.

He stared into Rondar’s empty, silent cell. The cold sheets and bed. A food bowl, still with tiny crumbs of bread in it.

The sheets and sleeping mat went into the laundry basket, and a bucket of cold, soapy water sloshed into the bare stone walled cell. The brush scrubbed the floor and the elevated stone plinth for a bed, then up the walls too, whistling as he did.

This was assumingly watched by the figure opposite in the one occupied cell, who sat perfectly still.

Spinson then gave the whole cell a second scrub, just to be on the safe side. As he began to scrub the surface of the bed, a patterned arm reached around him and pressed a wad of cotton wool into his face.

There must have been vapours in the wad, which Spinson, being surprised, breathed in. Muffled, he tried to call out. He struggled against his attacker, but his strength betrayed him, collapsing into the attacker, Doctor Wolagnub’s arms.

“You’re a heavy one!” The Doctor grunted.

Wolagnub steadily dragged the unconscious Spinson out of the cell and sat him on the wooden chair.

After he did, Wolagnub grabbed his right elbow and winced.

“Ow.”

Doctor Wolagnub massaged that elbow as best as he could to ease some of the pain and then fished around in Spinson’s pockets for the magic key to open the cell.

Magic keys are enchanted devices, designed for a particular lock – the spell coded so much that only one key can fit that lock, which makes the key almost impossible to copy. So if you ever lose it, you’re pretty much buggered.

And here it was, a silver key that slightly sparkled in the torchlight, due to the enchantment upon it. Wolagnub walked over to the other cell with it and looked down at the figure sitting on the floor there.

“You smell bad.”
“I... know. Don’t rub it in. I’ve been... waiting for you.”

Wolagnub inserted the key into the lock, turning it until it clicked and he could open the door.

“I think we’ve been heard. Can you move?”
“Remove... the stone... around my neck.”

As Wolagnub searched underneath Grimchan’s drooping hood, he found a stone securely and tightly fastened around his neck. Again, the same key managed to unlock it, and as the straps loosened, Wolagnub held the stone in his hand. It felt cold and draining, as if all of the colour had been drained from the world.

“That’s some artefact.”
“Yes, it is.”

The figure on the floor arose unrestrained, retracted the hood and stared into Wolagnub’s face. To a spectator, it would appear as if the two were attempting some kind of scaring competition between themselves.

“You’re Grimchan, right?”
“The one and only. You’re a Witch Doctor by the looks of it, and unafraid of my presence. Let me guess, Rondar’s dying wish?”

Grimchan walked past Wolagnub out of the cell and stared at the limp body of Spinson.

“I must have become soft in my old age, Doctor. Part of me feels happy that you did not kill him.”

© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009

Double bill!

Sorry, I got carried away and wrote a bit too much. Split it into two easier readable sections.

I think soon is the time when I can begin promoting this blog to others, as I would say that there is plenty of content now. I also feel like mucking about with the settings to make it look less like I've just chosen one of the starting templates. At the moment, it looks like reading an unrolled scroll (which I do like) on a brown carpet (which I'm not too sure of). It is easy on the eye though.

I'm going to have to look into art, so wish me luck.

I'm also writing as if I feel I have tons of readers. I know I don't but what the hell.

Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

Instantly, all of the wizards there began to discuss this last request with each other, as well as questioning Wolagnub’s methods. Seconds later, they agreed on a spokesperson amongst themselves, a wispy moustachioed sorcerer dressed in a gold robe, who stood forward to address the doctor.

“Doctor Wolagnub. Sorry, my name is Trenzar. Thank you. We may have difficulty in accepting Rondar’s dying wish, though these are testing times. I, myself, am willing to consider it. We must consult with our brethren, and of course, we must report everything to Lord Pommenby. Please retain the corpse for inspection.”
“That’ll mean building some kind of morgue.”
“That’s your problem now.”

Two hours later, all wizards began to gather in the top room for their ad-hoc conference, waiting of course for Lord Pommenby to arrive. Several persons had knocked on his door earlier on and called for him, but they just heard snoring from within. And farting apparently.

Presently, groups of wizards were discussing matters between themselves, just their own feelings, and general day to day stuff.

The gold robed sorcerer from earlier, impatiently rose up to address everyone else.

“If Lord Pommenby will not meet with us, then I suggest we discuss this matter without him. I have something to say, and I will do not want to permit protocol to silence me. Will all those who wish to proceed, raise your right hand now.”

Everyone else promptly raised their right hands.

“There is but one point on this agenda. The release of the Dark Sorcerer Grimchan, as per the dying words of Sigbie Rondar. Before I open this to you all, I wish to make my opinion heard. I understand why he asked this of us of his fellow inmate and I was one of those who fought against Grimchan’s Steel Army. He was a formidable foe, gifted, knowledgeable. He may be the key to salvation that we have been looking for, if we can get him onto our side.”

An angry wizard rose, dressed in scarlet, throwing his scrolls to the floor in disgust.

“Exalted Trenzar, you have my respect no longer, for these are the wishes of a criminal! An evil man doing a favour for another. Has desperation finally got to you now? That you have the... audacity... to even consider letting this... this... murderer free? No sooner than after his release would he turn on us. I read his trial. Unrepentant, proud, laughing. And you yet think this madman can save us all? Our best hope is him rotting in that cell for all time!” he spat out.
“Well, then, Grand Mage Cafus, would you kindly tell me what options we have left?”
The other wizards simply spectated silently at this point.

“There may be secret incantations in the tomes. Or we could try what we already know in another location. The shield may be weaker at another point. If we move out-“
“Move out where? This tower is the only safe place on this entire planet! If we all go outside, we would be killed, or even worse, captured. Then there will be no one to save.”
“I hardly think so! As a few of you here may testify, there’s an ancient teleportation disc in the Forest of Eddial. We don’t think the enemy would have found it out. It’s five hundred miles to the East, Elf territory, not close to any major towns or cities. It’s not strategically important to them. We can be in and out.”
“Well, we can test that by sending one of us through. Would you be willing to volunteer then?”
“I have no problem in instructing my apprentice.”
“Afraid you may be wrong, that you can’t send yourself?” mocked Trenzar.
“W-well, nothing of the sort. My apprentice has the experience to defend himself, should it be necessary. And if the coast is clear, we can all go through.”
“By that you mean your apprentice is expendable?”
“At least he’s not a stupid bloody idiot, unlike some here!”

“Silence!” someone boomed, then the two turned and looked.

The olive skinned Grand Sorcerer Ardnal entered the fray, his harsh features alone willing the two to silence.

“There will be no petty bickering here. This is neither the time or place. Am I under the impression that you are merely desperate men willing to try anything?”

The gold robed sorcerer replied.

“No, Ardnal, merely acting out a dead man’s final request. Is that too much to ask?”
“One criminal requesting the release of another?” retorted Ardnal, “How blind you must be? And you, Grand Mage Cafus, are blatantly trying to hide a mission of abject suicide! Well, have we abandoned all reasonable thought now?”

Cafus angrily replied to this, “Ardnal, Ardnal, why don’t you just tell us all what we should do next? Nothing? Or some random spell from the texts like we have been doing? How long do you think we all have left here? Weeks? Days? We all know it. They’re making the final push, wiping out the last resistance. We’ve got to do SOMETHING for God’s sake!”
“For the past month, I have been doing my own research into the shield, to find a way to penetrate it. To see if I could devise an untested method.”

“Secret research?” someone shouted, “Aren’t we all supposed to be working together on this? He’s ready to stab us in the back!”

This prompted much jeering from the other wizards, finger pointing and shouts of “Traitor” at Ardnal, who really looked like he couldn’t care.

“Silence!” he boomed in response, “If you want a reason, you shall have it. I have a doctorate in Shielding Mechanics and was asked by Lord Pommenby himself to conduct this research!”

“So do I!” called one of the wizards, a short, bespectacled fellow, “So it does comes as great surprise why I wasn’t asked. This is an insult. Now I find you’re in collusion with Pommenby and I think he has a lot to answer for!”
“Fine, you may take a look at the research I have been undertaking. I’m sure you will find it most fascinating.”
“That’s all I need to know. But being able to do that earlier would have been nice.”

Suddenly, the door noisily burst open and in stumbled Doctor Wolagnub.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot we had a meeting. Could I bring a friend? Is that alright with you?”

Then, the sounds of shuffling echoed around the room as numerous bums and shoes swivelled round to stare at the intruder.

“This meeting is for wizards only! Don’t you have patients to attend to? Can’t you read the notice on the door?” Cafus shouted.
“What, that, erm – Meeting – Wizards Only. Well I am a wizard... sort of?”
“Just get whatever it is you want over and done with and get out!”
“You’re a little tetchy and may I say, very rude. Let me introduce my guest!”

Wolagnub stepped back and gestured acknowledgably with his hands to the mysterious wizard who walked in, who was dressed head to toe in a big, grey, hooded gown that shadowed its face.

Cafus shouted, “And who are you? Have you just arrived? We weren’t aware anyone else was coming?”

It replied gratingly, “I’m surprised that none of you recognised me. Felt me coming. The borrowed cloak, maybe? Perhaps if I reveal my face?”

All the wizards were silent. The hooded man grabbed his hood with both hands and pulled it back, revealing a bony, grey visage, who stared down at the gasping wizards gleefully.

“We need to talk, me and you lot.”

© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009