Thursday, June 30, 2016

I walked in to see rug in the center of the tent filling up with all manner of weapons.


I walked in to see rug in the center of the tent filling up with all manner of weapons. Spears, knives, axes, shotguns, Colt .45's, several pounds of shells and ammunition, even a cross or three. Barnabas and Matt were taking turns throwing weapons into the growing pile and strapping on body armor. I frowned.

"Those are not going to help you" I said, drawing startled looks from the two of them.

"Tenet!" yelled Matt. I noticed his right hand was resting tentatively on the pistol's handle that dangled on his hip.

"Who?" Barnabas asked, his dark face scrunched up into a frown. He, too, was white-knuckling the hilt of a saber that protruded from his gold and black striped sash.

I chuckled and looked Barnabas squarely in his dark eyes. "My name is Tenet and I mean you no harm. However," I motioned to the weapons lying on the sandy rug. "Those are not going to help you against the creature you're hunting."

"How do you know about the ghūl and that we seek it?" still suspicious, Barnabas probed.

"Accept that it is my gift to know such things, just as I know that this creature is not to blame for the horrendous acts you seek to avenge."

Matt and Barnabas looked long and hard at one another. Matt shrugged meekly to his dark-skinned companion and then his eyes again fell on me. Something changed in his face, which was harder than when I'd last seen him. There was a strength about him and deep within his eyes, there was a glimmer of Light. I was glad to see how far he had come since we'd first met, long ago in Southeast Asia.

He approached me and his jaw was set. "I'm not exactly sure what or who you are Tenet, or how you knew we were here, or what in the world we were doing, but I do know that I know a thing or two about things and this thing is evil!"

I nodded. "This ghūl dwells in a graveyard, yes?"

Both men nodded. Barnabas added, "Far from town, there is a tower. It is an ancient thing. The ghūl lives within that tower and comes out at night to feast upon the living and...do worse things." The man's bright eyes fell. His honor would not allow him to speak of such things, and it pained him to even think on them.

This was good. He would need that purity and virtue if he was to face our real Enemy. "And why would such a graveyard exist, so far from town?" I queried.

They were shocked at the question. Neither had thought that the location of the graveyard was important. However, with most things, all of the details are not only important, they are critical to understanding...to knowledge...to Truth.

I continued. "I see. And the graves, they were marked with a symbol, yes?"

At this, Barnabas leaped, as I knew he would. "Yes! They are marked with a single word, in Arabic. 'Iblis' is the word and it means-"

Matt jumped in, "Satan! The closest translation to the word into English is Satan, Tenet! Your Enemy! See, this thing is evil."

"And there were no other marks?" I asked.

Both men looked dully at one another. They had no answer.

I continued, "If you would have looked closer, each stone was marred, the Arabic word scratched through, as if someone--or something--was trying to remove the word from its presence. Also, why would someone mark the gravestone of a loved one with a word that glorified the Evil One?"

The men were utterly silent.

"They would not, as you have ascertained. You see, these stones were not gravestones, they were warnings, placed by superstitious humans that knew no better...much like yourselves. These warning stones were offensive to the creature that lived in that tower, a creature who is, in fact, a Fallen, but has aligned itself with complete neutrality. It wants nothing to do with the Great War, it wants only to be left alone.

"Now, however, you have pulled it into the middle of this conflict. Despite being ignorant of the situation, you two have made it far worse. That is why I am here. Now, gird thy loins, men. We have a battle before us which is against a much greater enemy than this ghūl. However, we now need its help if we are to survive..."


Art Source: "34-PLEASE DON'T TOUCH YOUR UNCLES..." (c)/by mir-ahmad
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Tenet, #Tenetstales, #ArabianKights, #Barnabas, #MattOlsen, #Matt, #Sector7, #TheOrbisObserver, #ghūl, #Iblis

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Attack on Queen's Falls Castle


Flying over Queen's Falls Castle was always a breathtaking experience. If you didn't have clearance, that could be taken literally. The placement of the castle was no mistake and the canon and air forces which guarded it from attack by air were world renowned. Gareth should know, he'd been a pilot in the Queen's Air Guard for four years. The steam engine which powered his flier was the pinnacle of its kind. The secrets of its manufacture from the alloys used to the interior design was a state secret. Six guns, capable of spitting hot death with efficiency and incredible accuracy, had brought down hundreds of drones in practice sessions. All of these facts played through his head as he saw something neither he nor any of his predecessors had seen in twenty years. The castle was under attack.

Training kicked in, and he flew low over the bridge. They had already drawn up the hundred step long section cutting each span in two. That didn't do any good. The attack had come from under the waters. He swooped down and targeted the boats. Bullets ripped into the sides of the ingenious constructions. What appeared to be wooden sides, were merely partitions covering metal. He craned his head back over his shoulder and watched as other pilots followed his lead. None of the impacts had any obvious effect.

The craft had popped up from the swift waters of the Old Man like corks in a bath. Once above the surface, long pincers clamped on the rocks around the castle's base. Sinking them was, if not impossible, then at least fruitless in the short term. Men swarmed up ladders and from there onto the cliffs. Each wore some sort of armor which was equipped with talons designed to cling in place. They would climb a bit and then fire upon the few guards able to train their own guns on the invaders. The castle hadn't been designed to be defended from underneath.

As Gareth came around for a second run, he had to admit the whole affair was incredibly well planned. This time, he trained his guns on the climbers. They were spaced far enough apart that aiming at more than one at a time was a challenge. Still, with the dozen fliers in the air, they should be able to pick them off a few at a time. It did mean flying close to the water's surface, a different sort of challenge given the updrafts involved.

As he passed over the rushing river a third time to fire upon the interlopers, something burst from the surface of the Old Man. Whatever it was, it tore through his right wing and sent his flier tumbling. He had less than a second to free himself from it and fall to the water below. Hitting the water at the speed of his flight, he skipped like a stone for two or three hops. Once under the water, he didn't bother trying to swim. The current was too strong for any man, no matter how strong, to fight against it for very long. He saved his strength for the one chance he had, grabbing one of the many supports securing the bridge to bedrock. If he missed that, it would be a long fall to the jagged stones below.

#action, #ScottRoche, #Steampunk, #CastleStorming

Art Source: Waterfall Castle by fstarno at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Anum-Ma the Ever-Dying


Anum-Ma the Ever-Dying
All praise be to the Subjugator of all!
Leader of the Thrice-cursed,
Most-Wise, Priest and Prophet,
Great General of the Smoldgun Armies.

See the glittering blades
that but await the command
of the Four-Armed one,
Anum-Ma the Vicious.
See the glittering blades,
A never ending forest of golden teeth
they cannot wait to be
bloodied
upon the bodies and souls
of our enemies:

Those who deny Anum-Ma,
Those who disobey Anum-Ma,
Those who defy Anum-Ma.

All shall fall
before Anum-Ma the Ever-Dying.

Art Source: "untitled" (c)/by kisufisu
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #AnumMa

Monday, June 27, 2016

Lophyya had never been mindful of the many philosophy courses he and his brethren attended in the Russian camps where they were crafted, grown, and trained.

Lophyya had never been mindful of the many philosophy courses he and his brethren attended in the Russian camps where they were crafted, grown, and trained. Once he had come to the realization and acceptance of the fact that he was a manufactured being meant only to breed and eventually die, a damper was placed upon many of his existential quandaries. Yet, he had taken his training seriously, and philosophical studies were a part of that training. Still, he would have expected the afterlife to be somehow…drier.
Everything around him was wet. The sound of water filled his ears: tricking water, splashing water, dripping water, and waves.

Waves?

Lophyya forced his eyes open and quickly realized that he could only see out of his left eye. The other was matted closed. He hurt everywhere. Everything was extremely bright and shimmering and was covered with a reddish haze.

His blood.

He remembered his visor exploding and the cuts on his face. It was at that moment he realized that he was not yet dead, but alive. He cursed and slowly tried to push himself up out of his prone position. He was lying in a pool of water, but he was pretty sure he was still inside the Null.

“Null”, he croaked, “status.”

The vessel attempted a reply but seemed to be tongue-tied.

“So now you get quiet, eh?” Lophyya groused to himself, ripping his shattered and battered helmet off. Hoping to remove the blood and clear his vision, he splashed water on his face. At the needle stings across his face, he immediately sucked in a sharp breath. He glared at the water beneath him and on his hand like it was poison.

Perhaps it was.

Tentatively, his pink tongue snaked out of his black face.

Salt?

“What tricks are these?” Lophyya asked himself as he assessed his situation, starting with his person and moving outward from there. Minor injuries, at least that he could ascertain. There was no way to tell if he’d gained any internal injuries in the crash, if crash land was what had indeed happened to him. Lophyya knew well that he and his brethren healed quickly—at least quicker than the rate at which human’s healed—but that did not stop wounds from hurting, or even becoming infected. As such, he would need to figure out just how badly he was hurt, and soon.

From the looks of the Null, it had been pretty severely damaged in the crash. Yes, he was almost certain that it was a crash now, getting a better view of things. There was a massive gash in nearly every side of the Null…some larger than others, but for the most part, he was sure that the craft would never fly again. It would certainly never again achieve orbit. Power was still on in part of the vessel, but with all the water that was flooding the main compartment, he was not certain that having power was still a good thing.

Power!

He snapped his shaggy head towards the stasis pods and felt his blood turn to ice. One yellow and two red lights—he had to get to the Captain and the brides! Forgetting his own injuries, Lophyya leapt to his feet--

--Only to feel a massive tremor shake the foundations of the Earth beneath him. The entire structure of the Null quaked as if it were rattled in the hands of a mountain-sized monster. Metal groaned and squealed, instantly echoed by an inrush of more salt water. Sparks showered down from the Null’s ceiling and shot up like miniature rockets wherever the water touched.

“Out of frying pan into fire, eh?” the Officer grumbled to himself.

It was then that he heard the splashing from behind him…and the hissing.


Art Source: "MONO Ep05 pg03_Inks" (c)/by BenWolstenholme
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Russian, #ApeMan, #Null, #outofthefryingpanintothefire, #Lophyya

Sunday, June 26, 2016

“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”


“Security. Sanctity. Sagacity.”

“These are the tenets we live at Ascension. They represent all we seek to return to the global community, which our predecessors have attempted in various times and places. What you will find in this facility is our latest efforts to mitigate those factors that hinder the spread of knowledge and goodwill around the world.”

A voice among the small crowd interjected into the woman’s perfectly articulated speech, “What factors would those be?”

Her hazel eyes flashed intensely as she smiled and responded, “Drought, famine, transportation, communication, and cultural projects.”

The voice piped up again, “By cultural projects, do you mean human factors?”

She nodded. “Of course. Those are the hardest issues we face and where the majority of our focus lies.”

The guide pressed a few ghostly keys on the transparent data pad hovering over one of her hands. 

This activated the doors on their elevator, ushering them from the long descent into a vibrant and sterile hallway of white panels and clear glass. She sidestepped and allowed the guests to take in the view as they walked along the corridor.

“Welcome to Ascension.”

Large groves of flowering trees clothed a mound that led to a gigantic canopy. Gleams of light flickered among the branches of the lesser trees and along the bough of the Great Tree. Each member gawked as they shared a collective thought.

How could a Tree be THAT tall?! Much less undersea?!

The representative seemed to read their minds, “What you see is our greatest project, codenamed Yggdrasil. It holds the seeds to curing the contagion at the heart of the world’s problems.”

A long pause gripped the crowd as they tried to take the tree-tower in. They slowly noted the flickers among the forest to be a mixture of birds and electronic nodes.

The persistent questioner rubbed his bald head and asked, “And what would you call that contagion?”

“Rebellion.”

The man muttered into his beard, “On that we can agree…”

The guide pivoted on her stilettos and motioned for the audience to follow.

“As you can see, we have made an oasis in one of the most unforgiving environments. Who else can claim they have made a garden at the farthest point from land? We carved the root bed's foundation into the geothermal bedrock. With a few modifications, the natural volcanic soil allowed for rich biodiversity.

“The solution to the light issue came from the contributions of the natural dwellers in the abyssal region of the sea, as well as some insects. We infused their phosphorescent qualities into the plant tissue. We are proud to say that 80% of the illumination in our garden is natural light.”

A red-haired woman in the group piped up, “So those are not electric lights?”

“No,” the representative answered patiently, “Those nodes are bulbs growing from the trees. In a few months, the blooming season will peak and those will become luminous flowers. It is truly breathtaking.”

“Oooh lovely!” The attendee gasped. “I do hope we will be invited back to see it!”

“You may stay as long as you like” the guide answered.

The group came to a hub where passages branched off in cardinal directions. Another elevator stood centrally, which the guests guessed dropped occupants down to the forest below. The guide took them instead to the southern wing where labs occupied the adjacent rooms.

She announced with her pristine diction, “Here we work hard to eradicate the most persistent blights.”

The crowd peered through the azure glass at consoles attached to boxes that appeared to be metal coffins. Smoky glass allowed someone to look at each container’s inhabitant if he or she stood closely. The woman leading the tour pressed her palm to a pad next to one of the doors. It slid open and she gestured for the group to enter.

Once everyone entered, she gestured to the entire room as the door closed. “Please, look around and I will answer any questions you may have.”

The group scattered and looked at screens which glistened with incomprehensible information on genetic or biological details. Some of the guests marveled at the exotic plants under various hued lamps. The bald man took these in with a glance and stepped purposefully toward the large metal containers. All of them seemed empty except for one, which had vitals updating in real time on a holographic display on the glass.

Stroking his greying beard, he asked over his shoulder, “Who is in here?”

“That is a very special project, close to our Director’s heart,” She replied.

He noted the passion in her voice. “What would that be?”

“Very few things threaten our mission as the virus contained in there.”

“What sort of virus?” He queried.

“An ancient one. Thankfully, we may now be close to coming up with a cure. It has cost millions of lives, devastated civilizations, and destroyed prior efforts to bring peace to the world. We plan to turn this carrier into a vector to purge the world of its existence.”

“Hmmm, does this virus have a name?”

A manicured hand reached past the inquisitive guest and turned on the lamp inside the canister. A nearly man-sized porcupine reclined in the tube, pulsing roots attached along its throat and inner arms. Its skin looked sunken and quills drooped as if the life within barely burned.

“Some have called it Ichneumon. We call it--”

“Quill!” The guest rasped.

“Not the name we call this pestilence, Mr. Tenet, but thank you for confirming one thing.” The bald man’s irises shot wide at her icy tone.

His eyes met hers in the reflective glass. Her hazel eyes glowed with menace and violet luster as she finished.

“You are the Fallen we have been hunting a long, long time.”

Art Source: "Scifi Lab" (c)/by jimmyjimjim
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship, Tenet (c) by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #CoreyBlankenship, #notwhatyoudexpect, #twist, #surpriseending, #Tenet, #scifi, #secretlab, #undersea, #quill, #ichneumon, #yggdrasil

Saturday, June 25, 2016

D'Noss, Lord White and Speaker of the Triumvirate, Lord of the True Atlanteans, checked carefully before stepping into the glowing cavern.


D'Noss, Lord White and Speaker of the Triumvirate, Lord of the True Atlanteans, checked carefully before stepping into the glowing cavern. The man was no fool and he had not remained in power, relatively unchecked, for the past seven centuries without developing some skill.

It was not his honed sense of skill that warned him of this subterranean meeting place, however, with its deceptively soft and alluring blue glow - it was another of his abilities. Perhaps, this ability--one of the most beneficial abilities that his daily scramble to remain in power against beings far more formidable than he--was the most powerful that he had at his command.

Paranoia.

Many would not classify this as an ability, but rather, as a weakness. But many were those whose bones D'Noss had walked over to get to where he stood now.

"But it is this 'now' that has you so troubled, yessss?" The slimy, hissing voice sent a shiver up the spine of Lord White. The man steeled himself, however, remembering who he was - he would not let this fiend--this abomination--know of his fear.

"I can tasssste it." The horror said, running one of its two tongues over its yellowed fangs luridly.

"What do you mean, Zaar? Speak plainly. You know I have no time for your befouled riddles." It was the Lord of Atlantas that spoke now. It authority was plain on his alabaster face and it rang off the blue walls of the cavern around them.

"You cannot order me, D'Nossss... My masssster is greater than thou." The creature stepped forward, fully into the light, and the Lord White saw that this creature had changed even since he had last had dealings with it. It was taller, somehow, and it's basic form was unchanged: a horrible mixture of fish and frog, of water-breather and air-breather, of nightmare and horror; yet it had somehow become more abominable. It's body had been warped and twisted. The thing that was once a mere Deep One had been somehow perverted: it had eyes where no creature had any right to bear eyes. Its head was covered with horned tentacles and strange patches of horns and scaly armor had sprouted along its extremities. In one wicked, blood-stained claw, the thing clutched D'Noss's sole reason for being here: a sable blade.

"You brought it!" D'Noss hated himself the moment he'd said it. With that one foolish, emotional phrase, he had given this hated, abhorrent thing untold power over him.

Zaar simply laughed. It was a stomach-churning sound: a phlegmy coughs and liquid hacks. The twisted Deep One held the blade aloft. "Yessss, my massster hasss given me that which you ssssseeek. We have given you the blade that can sssslay your pesssky Pteroisian Guard. But firssst...what ssshall you give ussss?"

The Lord White knew he was already defeated. He would give almost anything to kill E'oth'ian, that accursed member of the Diluted Ones who plaged him so and threatened his reign. Once E'oth'ian was dead, then nothing would stand in his way of ruling Atlantis for the next one thousand years. D'Noss ground his teeth. "Name your price, fiend."

Zaar licked his dagger-sized, yellow shark's teeth. "No great cosssst. Ssssimply your allegiance and fealty to the Essssoteric Order of Dagon...."

Art Source: "Hearthstone - BilefinTideHunter" (c)/by namesjames
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Atlantis, #HPLovecraft, #DeepOnes, #EsotericOrderOfDagon, #DNoss, #Eothian, #PteroisOrder, #Undiluted, #Pure, #AtlantianCivilWar, #Zaar, #TwistedDeepOne

Friday, June 24, 2016

The variation in dosimetric parameters such as mass attenuation coefficient


'The variation in dosimetric parameters such as mass attenuation coefficient, half value layer factor, exposure buildup factor, and the photon mean free path for different oxide glasses for the incident gamma energy range 0.015–15 MeV has been studied-‘

"Excuse me, Dr. VonNuemen?”

The odd, bird-looking man looked up from the blank wall at which he’d been staring for the last hour and brought his beady eyes to bear upon one of the doctoral students that worked alongside him in the Fissions Lab. He recognized her, but could not recall her name at the moment. “Uh…y..yes?” he stammered.

“Doctor, I believe that you have a meeting with the Lab Chiefs in a half-hour, sir. You might want to…” she waved her hands in a flailing manner that Karl found utterly insufficient and rather irritating.

“I might want to…WHAT?” the last word was intentionally harsh; Karl was becoming most disgruntled at being disturbed in the first place. He’d keenly felt that he had been on the edge of some great discovery before he’d been interrupted.

The young lady bit her lip and tried—unsuccessfully—to speak several times. As Dr. VonNuemen’s gaze narrowed, she seemed to reconnect her brainstem to her vocal chords. “It’s just that you’ve been sitting there for nearly seventeen hours, Doctor. You might want to freshen up a bit before meting the Chiefs.” Her nose wrinkled distastefully.

Karl thought she looked like one of the lab rabbits they used to test the FORMULA.

***

'It has been inferred that the addition of PbO and Bi2O3 improves the gamma ray shielding properties. Thus, the effect of chemical composition on these parameters is investigated in the form of six different glass compositions, which are compared with specialty concrete for nuclear radiation shielding. The composition termed-'

“Doctor? DOCTOR!” Dr. Raymond Etchingham, Senior Lab Chief, Nuclear Fission Research Division, was about to have a coronary. He was well past the end of his patience with this man, regardless of how brilliant he was supposed to be.

Something small and remote snapped Karl out of his critical line of thinking, but he could not for the life of him understand what…it was only when he saw Raymond’s face, flushed red, and his spittle-flecked lips that he had a clue. Dr. VonNuemen did not reply, but merely arched an eyebrow like Spock from Star Trek

Oh! How he admired that Vulcan!

“You have nothing to say, Doctor?” Etchingham asked. The other Lab Chiefs looked on with severe disapproval.

“Yes, I do.” Karl replied. “You interrupted me, Raymond. I was in the middle of an important thought and you made me lose it. You should apologize.” It was a fact, stated simply.

“WHAT?!? You mean to tell me that after all we’ve been through in the past six months, that’s all you have to say to me? After all of the cover-ups, after all your near-disasters and our attempts to keep your funding secured, that’s all you…”

The man continued to rail on, endlessly, for the next several hours, but Karl did not hear him. His thoughts were overtaken, again, by the FORMULA - and just how close Karl was to a solution…

***

Karl was only distantly aware that he had not slept in a couple of weeks. He was not aware—at all—of what time it was, but it felt to him like it was early morning. Perhaps this was due, he thought, to the feeling of discovery which was welling up inside him, like the dawn of a new morning.

Morning.

Coffee.

'Caffeine...systematic name 3,7-dihydro-1,3,7-trimethyl-1H-purine-2,6-dione; it is also known as 1,3,7-trimethylxanthine, and 1,3,7-trimethyl-2,6-dioxopurine. Caffeine can be classified as an alkaloid , a term used for substances produced as end products of nitrogen metabolism in some plants. The chemical formula is C 8 H 10 N 4 O 2 . Caffeine has a molar mass of 194.19 grams (6.85 ounces). It is soluble in water and in many organic solvents, and it appears in pure form as white crystals. Caffeine can be prepared by extraction from natural sources or by synthesis from uric acid.’

That was it.

That was what was missing from the FORMULA.

Dr. Karl VonNeumen quickly donned his protective shielding suit and obtained the glowing canister that held his greatest creation—the FORMULA—and added it to his cup of morning coffee. It didn’t matter anymore if it was really morning or not.

Karl knew without a doubt that this was about to truly be the dawn of a new day…

…for all mankind.

Art Source: "crazy Atomic Scientist" (c)/by Boris-Dyatlov
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #scientist, #research, #insidemyownmind, #odd, #nuts, #science, #helostit, #atomic, #crazy

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Bloody Jenny - Rats Onboard


Jenny's feet moved with confidence along the mainsail's boom. The canvas snapped and fluttered. She stopped and looked back to see if she noticed any pursuit. Movement caught her eye. It was hard to know if a man moved along behind her or if it was just the sheet moving. Thankfully, uncertainty should cut both ways. She held her breath and squatted. After a count to ten, she saw someone move. It was a person, sure a she was sitting here.


Light caught her eye. She looked up and saw some of the faerie fire crawling down the sheet towards her shrouded opponent. As it got closer, she could tell it was Masters.


From the look on his face, clear enough from the flickering blue light, he was uneasy. The man was as superstitious as any one of her men, perhaps more. Fear could play to her favor.


"Husband, don't steal his soul." She shrieked from her place in the darkness.


Master's eyes moved from the light to where her voice originated, and back to the light. He took a step backwards and crouched.


Seizing the moment of doubt, she took three long strides forward and grabbed a rope. Momentum carried her feet first into his face. Bone crunched and he screamed as he lost his footing. Another set of wet snapping sounds came up from below.


She put her feet down on the boom and drew her cutlass. By her count, one foe remained. It was unlike Cooper to climb up, when he had men to send instead. But with Guerrero bleeding and Masters a broken bundle of twigs, he had no choice.


A prick between her shoulder blades told her exactly where. She raised her hands, keeping hold of the cutlass.


"Drop your weapon, captain. It'll make it easier for you to climb down. I don't want you dead, but it's all the same to me if you are."


Cooper was a wizard at moving through the ropes. There would be no easy way to use her size and agility against him without also having the element of surprise. That he hadn't just killed her outright meant he thought she had a greater use. "If I go down, I'm eventually dead whether you want to or not. Why not push your blade home?" She waited, gambling she was right about his need for her. With both compatriots down, perhaps he'd rethink the mutiny? "No? Well, take a moment to listen. If it was more gold or a bigger share you're wanting, you could have had both if you'd proven yourself. You want my cabin, though. You think there's something there for you?"


Cooper chuckled. "We both know there is. Tell me where the map is, and I will make your death easy. Don't? And I'll keep you alive and in your cabin for days."


"The men won't stand for it."


"I can keep you nice and quiet." He pressed the blade harder into her back.


A trickle of blood worked its way down. She hung her head and let her shoulders slump. She knew the rumor of a secret map held by her husband. There, the story went, he left a secret share of the takings for his own use. Most didn't believe it. They knew their captain wouldn't hold any treasure from them. There was no good could come of it. Men like Cooper believed everyone was the same, greedy and self serving. "I see."


Blue white light flickered again, drawing her eyes. This time it wasn't the faerie fire alone. A man's outline stood before her bathed in arcs of lightning. While she couldn't make out the features, it was her own Jeremiah. The stance was unmistakeable. Her mouth hung open.


"Well, what's it to be?" Cooper pulled back the blade.


"I love you." What should have been her last words to her husband, instead of the recriminations she had sent, could finally find a proper set of ears.


"What?"


Not answering the pirate, she fell to one side, grabbing for a rope as she did.


A peal of thunder, so close it woke every man on the ship, was followed by a barely heard scream.


As Jenny dangled from the rigging, she saw a charred body fall and looked up to see an empty boom. By the time she made her way down to the deck, shaking and face damp with tears, her men stood looking at the bodies in awe of the damage done.


Zaccheus directed them to take care of the corpses. "Put these scoundrels over the side." He walked over to Jenny. "Is everything squared away, Captain?"

"I think so, mister. The ships had a few rats and I've seen them dealt with. Take the helm and stay on course."

Art Source: St. Elmo's Fire Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche
#1800s, #action, #BloodyJenny, #fight, #History, #Pirates, #ScottRoche, #swashbuckling,

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

DNA is only so diverse...


DNA is only so diverse...
When your race
is as old
as the universe,
then there are bound
to be some problems
hidden in your gene pool.

Regardless of which Great Old One you serve:
be it Father Dagon, Mother Hydra, Yog-sothoth,
or even mighty Cthulhu,
there are still limitations
when yer mom and dad do that
"do that they do” (and make you).
Variation is an imperative.

Sadly,
when you’re one of countless brethren
isolated in benthic oceanic realms,
hidden from sight of moral men
by energies both arcane and horrible,
then variation in one’s makeup is about as rare
as hen’s teeth.

So every once in a while,
one of us is born with
less than savory characteristics.
Usually, this is no issue - after all
we know none of us are winning
any beauty pageants. Nevertheless it is pretty tough,
being an inbred Deep One.

Art Source: "afishman" (c)/by gimaldinov
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #DeepOne, #poetry, #poem, #GreatOldOne, #FatherDagon, #MotherHydra, #YogSothoth, #Cthulhu, #funny, #inbred

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

They think I'm just some welder...they could not be more wrong.


They think I'm just some welder...they could not be more wrong.

That was my Pa--not me. He was just some welder. He worked hard. Went to work every topclock and worked until the tenth whistle blew. Stumbled home so tired he could barely see--and it wasn't from drinkin' hotfire hooch, either--and collapsed into a heap once he checked on Ma and me. It didn't matter to me what the other urchs said about Pa. He wasn't a drunk and he didn't beat on me or Ma.

He just let the High-Ups use him up 'til there was nothing left.

Not me.

They think I'm just a welder. Just some dumb stiff, just like my Pa, who's gonna work for them 'til he drops. Well, they're in for a real shocker, let me tell ya.

It all started when they gave me that muckrakin' assignment to clear out the Old Tunnelwerks. Hundreds of millions of tons of slagged iron and ruined steel, all heaped up in piles bigger--way bigger--than the biggest shanty-shack in Coppertun, all buried in a tumble-down tunnel as black as the backend of a NightHowler. It was a corroded job and they knew it when they gave it to me. But they weren't counting on what else might be down there, in the dark, buried under all that slime, slag, and shite.

But I found it, and it's gonna change everything. Everything for me. Everything for Ma. Everything for Tinua. I knew it the moment I slipped them over my eyes that everything was gonna change. I don't know what they are, but I've taken to callin' them my Shiners. They help me to understand things, to piece things together that I wouldn't have even noticed before.

Yea, you bet your last braid, brothers. Everything's gonna change now.

'Cause now, I know the things the High-Ups don't want me to know. I can see everything.

Art Source: "welder" (c)/by Boris-Dyatlov
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Brasshand, #Shiners, #Welder, #Coppertun, #OldTunnelwerks, #Tinua, #HighUps

Monday, June 20, 2016

"Father, why do men fear the Old Willow Tree?"


"Father, why do men fear the Old Willow Tree?"

"That is a good and wise question, my son. A question that demands as it's answer a story."

"A story? Oh Father, please tell me!"

"I will, son. I will. It all began many years ago, during the dark times when men were more savage and barbaric than they are now. Bear in mind, my son, that this does not mean that they were lesser men than are we. No difference could be greater, in fact. These men were our betters in every aspect. They were stronger, quicker, and smarter. They were more wise and more crafty and far more skilled than are we."

"Then why are we their lessers, Father? Have we not learned from what they have left."

The old man smiled. "You are wiser than many your age, my son. One who is wise would assume this, but for one thing. These men in these dark times were also more given to their selfish natures than are we. They did not adhere to the Light and the Truth. As such, they cared nothing for their forefathers or their sons. They cared only for themselves."

The boy's eyes widened and his jaw fell unhinged. "Savages," he exclaimed.

The old man nodded and then continued his tale. "Yes, so it was in these dark times that one man in particular, Count DuLenz, greatly desired to possess a maiden, the Lady Adela, for his own. The Count was a man who had everything that coin could buy or blade could obtain, and yet in his wicked heart, he burned for the one thing he could not have - the betrothed of his brother, the King Theodric. For a long time, DuLenz held this desire secret in his heart and it tormented him.

"Then, one night, when returning from a raid, the Count built his camp beneath the boughs of the Old Willow Tree."

"The same one? The one by the River Fell?"

The old man nodded. "The very same one, although the river had a different name then... As the Count made his camp and built his fire, he spoke to himself, out loud, of the things he desired most, and of his hatred of those who held these things from his grasp. To his ill fortune, a Fell Grigori sat amid the branches of the tree that night."

Again, the boy child was overcome by surprise, and a touch of terror. "What? A Watcher!"

The old man nodded sagely. "You are wise to show your concern, my son. A Grigori is not to be trifled with, and a Fell Grigori even more so. The corrupted denizen of Heaven had heard the desires of the Count, spoken aloud, and now he could act upon them. He promised to give DuLenz the desire of this heart, if he would first cut out the heart of the King."

"The War! This is how the Brothar War began!" The boy cried, light dawning in his eyes.

The old man nodded again. "Yes, my son, and so began three hundred years of bloodshed and conflict...and that is why men fear the Old Willow. It is said that the Fell Grigori perches there still, angry and hungry that his prize has not yet been delivered..."

Art Source: "The willow devil" (c)/by Reicheran
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #oldstory, #legend, #fatherandson, #Watcher, #DuLenz, #KingTheodric, #Grigori, #FellGrigori, #TheOldWillow, #BrotharWar

Sunday, June 19, 2016

"No, the light will call them!"


"No, the light will call them!"

"I know, Myra. That's the reason I lit it, foolish woman." The man's wrinkled lips, covered in hoary whiskers, split into a feral snarl.

"You cannot do this, Caleb. There are innocents here: women and children!" Myra's red-rimmed blue eyes were beginning to fill with tears. Her thoughts were centered on Bailey, who she prayed was still safe, hidden in her mother's basement.

The old sailor snarled, "You call 'em innocents, but ain't no one innocent, Myra. They get what comes to 'em."

Myra thought she was going to lose her mind. This whole night had been one topsy-turvy nightmare after another. She still could not believe the things that she'd seen. Her mind still could not accept that some kind of Doorway had been opened and that now there were Things out there. She ran a blood-stained hand over her weary face. She heard the words come out of her mouth, but they seemed like a scene out of a bad movie. "Then so do you, Caleb."

Myra shot her husband in the heart.

His blood splashed across the wyrdlight that her husband had lit in the lighthouse tower. The blood turned the yellow light a garish orange.

Outside, she could hear the watery, gurgling howls of the things Caleb had called Deeper Ones. She knew she could not put out the wyrdlight but began fishing through Caleb's pockets for a clue. Inside an inner pocket, she found an ancient book, tiny and yellowed, with a strange scar-like symbol carved into the cover. Her fingertips tingled as she touched it. There was power in this thing.

"Perhaps this can help," she said as she cracked the ancient spine-it sounded like bones breaking.

Outside, the Deeper Ones howled and their backs began glowing with garish orange lights--the same color as the wyrdlight--each displaying the same symbol on the cover of the odd, archaic tome.

Art Source: "Merman" (c)/by cobaltplasma
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #HPLovecraft, #horror, #StephenKing, #lighthouse, #wyrdlight, #DeeperOnes, #TheYellowSign

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Before my eyes, the man's face contorted into a garish, skull-like visage, changed by the demon inside him.



168 A.D.
Country of Wa

Before my eyes, the man's face contorted into a garish, skull-like visage, changed by the demon inside him. Hungry red tongues burst from his armored hands and engulfed his longblade. Even amid the din of the battle, I could hear the voice of the demon within him, taking control of my friend and companion, Wei Zhi.

It was laughing. It knew me and I knew it for what it was.

I screamed out to the Fallen, "Kasai-musuko, you have no place here! Depart this vessel, and leave this man in peace!" I spat out a mouthful of my own blood.

The demon laughed at me. "Pitiful! You, who deem yourself greater than you are, you seek to cast me into Oblivion? You think too highly of yourself, Tenet!" The creature's right hand erupted into a dancing orb of flame and I could see there was more here than mere heat and flame. This was baelfire - an unholy corruption of Divine Power itself.

My odd eyes widened. What stood before me was no mere "son of the flame", as I had called it. I needed to know more. I needed to know with whom I was dealing. I changed tactics, circling the creature who had inhabited my blood-brother. "Wei Zhi! Fight this corruption inside you my brother! Remember your training! Remember my tales of the Holy Light! This thing that has taken over your form - it is NOT YOU! You can fight this!"

The demonic samurai laughed. "Your friend cannot hear you, Betrayer. He is here with us of his own free will."

I screamed in defiance. Part of me was afraid of this creature, afraid that he knew far more about me than I he--a very dangerous thing with any of the Fallen, but especially with one powerful enough to call and command balefire--but also afraid that the demon's words were true. I let my sword lead the way and launched a series of furious blows. "You lie, O Vassal of the Lord of Lies! You do not know my friend and you have not entered him without a battle!"

The fiend was fast and deflected my blows easily, with almost no effort at all. My attacks were formidable and would have felled even the most proficient human warrior, but to this thing, they seemed inconsequential. With a word from the demon, red-hot balefire sprang into my face and I screamed in pain as my flesh was consumed by the ravenous, near-living tongues of hellish fire.

That pain was quickly followed by it's larger and more powerful brother--agony--as the demon samurai drove his longblade up to the hilt into my belly. His garish, flesh-less face next to mine, I could smell his sulfurous breath and hear the long echoes of Hell in his voice. "You see, Betrayer..." a clawed fingertip tapped the cloth fetish around his neck. It appeared to be a woman's silk scarf, embroidered with symbols that swam across its surface with arcane and diabolical energy. "...your friend, Wei Zhi has pledged himself to the protection of Pimiko, she who shall soon be Empress."

It was then that I realized how dire this situation really was. If Wei Zhi had, in fact, sworn fealty to the sorceress Pimiko, then his soul might be forever lost...

Art Source: "Demon Samurai" (c)/byJasonTN
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Tenet, #TenetTales, #DemonSamurai, #WeiZhi, #Pimiko, #CountryofWa, #CivilWarofWa, #Kasai-musuko, #balefire, #Betrayer

Friday, June 17, 2016

"You may cower in fear, but I will bathe in their blood!"



"You may cower in fear, but I will bathe in their blood!" E'oth'ian could barely contain his rage as he floated before the Triumvirate. He well might be one of the Diluted, but by the Tides, he was still Atlantian!

D'Noss, Lord White and Speaker of the Triumvirate, leaned forward from the Table of Three and spoke, his voice mystically amplified through the air-to-water barrier that shimmered between them. "You will do no such thing, Guard of the Pterois Order.  We-" the immaculately dressed and manicured member of the oldest of the Altantian bloodlines motioned towards his two nearly identical companions, "-have things well in hand. We are in the midst of a peace treaty with the Esoteric Order of Dagon and their Deep Ones. These are concerns which are far above your station." There was no direct threat of any kind. Nothing spoken that could be implied as menacing at all. And yet, each syllable uttered by D'Noss dripped with the blood of malice and omen.

"You sit upon your dry thrones, thinking dry thoughts and contemplating dry actions while we die daily at the hands of these abominable fiends! Your safety is bought hourly by the blood of those you deem beneath you and I will harbor it no longer!" E'oth'ian knew that his words were tantamount to a death sentence, but it did not matter. He could no longer bear to live and draw water over gills while his kinsmen were used as pawns in bloody, endless game. The Pteroisian Guardsman whipped his powerful tail and shot away from the Chamber of Courts, the most ancient and sacred of all places in Atlantis.

E'oth'ian could hear the cries of alarm and warning spouting from D'Noss has he sped from the water-and-air filled chamber. Part of him wished he could see the Lord of Atlantis, as he deemed himself, in an "undignified and non-composed state"...the high-minded and high-bred rulers of his city placed so much importance on maintaining their appearances of perfection that it often bordered on lunacy. Well, no matter, he thought as he drew his long, elegant blades--known as villias--if he could not see D'Noss's panic-stricken face, then perhaps at least the other Diluted might.

For E'oth'ian, only one thing remained now. To put to the blade as many of the hated Deep Ones as he could...and to destroy forever the twisted Esoteric Order of Dagon....

Art Source: "Merman Deep Warrior" (c)/by MorkarDFC
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #Atlantis, #HPLovecraft, #DeepOnes, #EsotericOrderOfDagon, #DNoss, #Eothian, #PteroisOrder, #Undiluted, #Pure, #AtlantianCivilWar

Thursday, June 16, 2016

“Bring him in.”


“Bring him in.”

Two massive doors of boron carbide, each weighing about as much as a small town, ground open. General Moissan hated those blasted things, but considering the state of the world, he figured he should be thankful for them. They reminded him of how trapped he was behind those doors, and if he had to be honest, how ultimately helpless he really was.

It was not a thought that he liked thinking. It was not a thought that he would ever admit to thinking, either. Regardless of what he would—or would not—admit to himself or to anyone else, those titanic black doors reminded the General of the reason he was here at this specific moment as well. Today would hopefully begin project MAVEN. As those light-less slabs of the second hardest material on the planet receded into the living rock of Devil’s Peak, revealing the series of reinforced steel blast doors beyond, the General tugged at his collar.

“Everything ok?” the physicist next to him asked, his words nearly as oily and slick as his black comb over.

That was another thing that General Moissan didn’t like about this whole situation. Of all the men on the planet that he had to be cooped up, three miles underground, with, it was Dr. Jonas Gray. Moissan hated the man…

“Fine,” the General spat.

“I think this will be a day long remembered” the physicist said, practically bursting with pride.

“I don’t much care who remembers it, so long as it works” Moissan snapped back. “I hope you and your people have not been wasting the last nine months, Doctor. There’s a world out there, dying. There’s a world out there in need of MAVEN.”

Dr. Gray’s pride balloon popped, replaced by a flaccid, flabby shell of spite and resentment. “As you have said, so…many…times, General.” He did not even try to hide the petulance and disrespect in his voice this time.

The General tugged on his collar again. So apparently, he was not the only one feeling the pressure…

The final door clanged open and there stood the culmination of project MAVEN. Moissan knew that at its core, this was real only Captain Gregory Kopp standing before him, but the man looked drastically different from the last time he’d lain eyes on him. Now, he looked equal parts machine to man, his left arm encased in their prototype Power Gauntlet and the winged ICARUS flight pack on his back. The General knew that there was much more to that pack than some technological widget: the ICARUS was inexorably fused to the man’s spine and brain stem.

And that was only the beginning of the upgrades…

The General let out a low whistle and was uncharacteristically silent for several heartbeats. Finally, he asked, “Well, Doctor, it looks impressive and it looks like he’s ready to take on the threat. But does it work? Is MAVEN online and under our control?”

This was the moment that Dr. Gray had been waiting for…finally, he would show the General what he was really made of. “Absolutely, General, let me demonstrate…” The Doctor grinned maliciously and spoke into the wireless mike he held in his bony hand. “MAVEN!” he called.

The Man-Turned-Machine’s head snapped towards the Doctor.

“Kill the General."

Art Source: "Client Design sample 1" (c)/by witchking08
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #superhero, #endoftheworld, #ProjectMAVEN, #MAVEN, #GeneralMoissan, #GregoryKopp, #DrGray #ICARUS