GZ Tales: Percival's Tale part 3

 

The couple in the corner decided to leave quietly, but Vicky and Scat were too busy to notice. Percival’s mind spun as he considered all he heard so far.

“So, what can I get you?” Vicky asked.

“A pint of lager will do, thank you.”

“What kind?”

Percival’s mind spun again, “Surprise me.” As long as they thought he was an actor, Percival felt a bit safer. Finding out the rest of what he needed to know still looked tricky. The last thing he wanted now was to scare anyone. It would require him playing along with their thoughts of him and letting them do the thinking.

Vicky served up a mug of beer, “That will be six dollars.”

“Ah.” Percival dug into his pocket and pulled out an assortment of folded bills.

Vicky took them and paused on sight of them, “What is this?”

“Oh!” Percival realized that his money may not be any good in this weird world. He took the bills back with apology and dug frantically for what he hoped would work. He put a gold coin in her hand.

“Oh boy.” Vicky said, “You guys take this stuff seriously don’t you?”

“You don’t take gold?” Percival asked with a knot in his throat.

“What?” Vicky’s jaw dropped open.

“Hey! You mean that’s an authentic coin?” Scat nearly spat all over the bar, “Nowadays, those things are worth a fortune!”

“Um, great.” Vicky said as she pocketed the coin. “That will do nicely.”

“Good.” Percival took a drink of his beer. “Oh my! This is cold.” He noted the strange expressions, “And very good! Just what I was hoping for.”

“So you were saying that you’re lost?” Vicky asked, finding herself more curious with this man than before.

“Yes. I am lost. I know it will sound strange, but I don’t even know what town I’m in.”

“You’re in Franklin, Louisiana, Hon,” Vicky said.

“Is this the town you’re supposed to be in?” Scat asked, wondering if he had any more gold coins.

“Maybe,” Percival answered hesitantly.

The door to the bar opened and two policemen stepped in. One was tall and the other stout. Both appeared muscular and athletic with modern military haircuts. Percival had never seen such uniforms, but he still recognized authority figures.

“Hello, Officers!” Vicky said brightly. At that moment she noticed that the couple in the corner was gone. In the pit of her stomach, she knew why they were there.

“How are you folks doing tonight?” Officer Stone, the stout one asked. His chest was broad and his neck was thick. Vicky thought he must be a body builder.

“We’re doing great. Would you boys like some coffee?”

“We got a call about a man with a gun,” the stern looking Officer Yates informed them.

“Looks we have him right here,” Officer Stone gestured towards Percival. “Not what I expected though.”

“It’s okay, Officers,” Scat said, “He’s one of them reenactment people.”

“Is that a real gun, Sir?” Officer Stone asked.

“It’s one of them replicas,” Scat interjected again. A stern look from Yates turned the old man back to his beer quickly.

“As he said, Sir,” Percival reached for the pistol to show the officer.

“I’ll do that,” Officer Stone said as he reached out and took the pistol from its holster. He studied the gun with intense interest as Yates peered over a shoulder.

“Well, that has to be replica. I’ve never seen a black powder pistol in such good shape.” Stone put the pistol on the bar, “Now I need to see your I.D.”

“I.D.?” Percival didn’t recognize the term.

“Yes,” said Yates, “Identification.”

Percival looked at the silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand. It had his name and rank inscribed on it. Percival couldn’t help the feeling that this would not satisfy these officers. Few men in the ranks had any better to be identified by in the war, so Percival had nothing else. He could only think of one thing.

“I am Captain Louis Percival of the…”

Suddenly the pistol on the bar moved and startled everyone but Percival. It spun in place on the bar rapidly and then gradually slowed. When it stopped, the barrel aimed towards the door.

“You know, Officers,” Vicky piped up with desperate earnest, “He’s with me. He’s a friend of the family and, Lord, we’ve been looking out for him since he was a kid. He’s always gotten so lost in anything he does,” Vicky tapped the side of her forehead, “that it’s hard to get him out. It was a mistake to let him bring that here. He just wanted to show us. I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

“Ookay,” Stone said slowly as he stared at the gun. “That might have been good to know when we first got here.”

“Yeah,” Yates nodded, also staring.

“I’m so sorry, Officers. But, you know, I take full responsibility for Louis. Do you need my I.D.?”

“You know what?” Stone stepped backwards. “I don’t know what we just saw here, but I don’t think it’s illegal. I think we can go now.”

“I agree.” Yates started heading for the door. “You folks have a good night.”

The officers left without another word and an awkward silence fell over the three left behind.

Once the officers were gone, Vicky couldn’t contain herself, “What in the world was that?” She pointed at the gun. “You know what? Never mind. Bar’s closed. Scat go home. Mr. Percival, you stay right there.”

“That’s not fair!” Scat protested, “And hey, Frank’ll fire ya for closing early!”

“Scat,” Vicky looked the old man dead in the eye, “Scat!”

“Well, you don’t have to be like that about it,” Scat muttered as he made for the door. “No tip for you.”

“You never tip!” Vicky  followed Scat and locked the door behind him. She turned off the neon signs in the windows and turned off the main room lights. She glanced out the windows a couple of directions twice and then walked back to Percival.

By this time, Percival had holstered his pistol. He watched Vicky’s bustle of activity with curious interest.

“Okay.” Vicky held both hands in front of her as if trying to catch an invisible ball or at least his attention. “What is the real story with you?”

“You may find that hard to believe.” Percival couldn’t help but fear how she may react.

“Your gun going poltergeist on my bar was hard to believe. Try me.”

GZ Tales: Percival's Tale Part 2

 

“Weirdo,” said a man in leather and chains passing in the opposite direction of the business woman.

Percival only knew of mohawks on native Indians. The short purple one on the man in leather was ghastly. Percival blinked several times, but all the sights remained. It was so much to take in that he quickly felt dizzy. He didn’t even realize he had holstered his pistol, but had his hand on the handle.

“Must be one of those reenactors,” said another man walking by.

“Reenactors,” Percival muttered.

“Hey, is that gun real?” another woman asked.

Captain Percival moved his hand away from his pistol and realized that he was the one who didn’t belong here. He had to find someplace to think. He had to find someplace to learn about where he was. With several nervous glances around himself, Percival turned and walked quickly down a street less busy.

Not far away, down that same street, Vicky washed down the bar in bored slow motion. Only 3 people were in Frank’s Bar that late afternoon and Vicky didn’t expect many more. She tied back her reddish blonde hair as she gazed at the loving couple in the far corner. It would be nice just to have someone to talk to. Sadly, the only person who wanted to talk to her was old Scat. Vicky wanted nothing to do with Scat and usually tried to avoid eye contact. Inevitably, this never worked, and Scat would always wind up at the bar. Just the lint in his beard made her wonder if he ever looked in a mirror. Scat drank too much, smelled terrible and was always far too interested in Vicky for her comfort. He reminded her of some bad cheese she found behind her refrigerator once.

“Hey, Doll,” Scat said with a toothy grin as he sat at the bar. He rubbed his grimy fingers on the beer mug, smearing it. Vicky never looked forward to touching anything Scat touched.

“Doesn’t look like you need a refill yet,” Vicky looked away hoping for someone new to come in the door.

“Aw, you know I love talking to you, Doll. You know, we should go out sometime.”

“You’re really killing me, Scat,” Vicky moved a few feet down the bar and pretended to see something out the window.

“Well, I’ve warned you before; I am a lady killer.”

Vicky tried to ignore Scat. Seeing the man outside seemed like a sudden dream come true. Even with the man’s Civil War attire, she thought he had to be safer company than the old coot. Vicky couldn’t take her eyes off him. He looked lost and kept staring at the bar. Vicky thought he was gathering courage to come in. Maybe he’d never been in a bar before; Vicky had no idea. As he finally came toward the building, Vicky felt elation that someone, anyone, was coming in.

Captain Percival couldn’t steady his nerves as he put a hand on the door latch. All the strange lights were like no tavern he had ever known. Still, he always learned about new places at taverns and pubs. It seemed like the safest idea, or he hoped it was. With a deep breath, Percival opened the door and stepped inside.

At first, he found relief in the fact that the place was not crowded. Then he felt their eyes on him and knew he still stood out as odd in this strange new land. The couple in the corner shrugged and went back to their conversation. Vicky and Scat still stared at him in wonder.

“Can I help you?” Vicky finally found her voice as Percival approached the bar.

“I hope so. I’m afraid I’m lost.”

“Well, I don’t know where they are doing any Civil War reenactments right now.”

“Reenactment,” Percival said slowly, “I’ve been hearing that a lot today.”

“Well sure!” Scat said, “That’s what they call it when you fellers get all dressed up and act out your battles and stuff. Can’t say it’s real popular around here though.”

“Act out,” Percival repeated again, “Do you mean like a play?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Scat said, “I’m sure you would know better than me.”

“A very loud play,” Vicky interjected, wondering about Percival’s state of mind. “Maybe you should have a drink?”

Percival stepped closer to the bar, thinking that would be a fine idea. That’s when Vicky noticed the pistol on his hip.

“Uh, we don’t allow guns in here.”

Percival paused, “Oh. I’m sorry.” To the surprise of everyone in the bar, Percival drew the pistol and offered it to Vicky handle first. Vicky had no idea what to do or say.

“You know,” Scat said, “It’s probably just a replica. All them fellers have ‘em. I’m sure it wouldn’t be any problem.”

“Yeah. Right.” Vicky said, “Why don’t you just leave it in the holster?”

“Okay,” Percival holstered the pistol and decided not to correct them on its status as a replica or not.

The couple in the corner decided to leave quietly, but Vicky and Scat were too busy to notice. Percival’s mind spun as he considered all he heard so far.

GZ Tales: Imaginary Enemy Part 2

 

“I have an imaginary friend, but he's not very nice. Is yours nice?” The table next to the bed shook slightly.

            “Yeah,” Larry replied, feeling a tremor in the floor, “I have a very good friend. Maybe you'd like to meet him.” He eyed the table suspiciously.

            “Oh no. No, no, no.”

            “What is it, Isa? What's wrong?”

            Her eyes welled with tears, “You should run.”

            A shadow grew and loomed in the corner of the room.

            “It's not the child!” Nyhtwulf's voice boomed in his head.

            “Ow! Too loud.”

            “It's a secondary entity.”

            “Can you tackle it?”

            “I will do my best.”

            “I'll grab the girl.” He turned his attention back to Isa, “Okay, this is very important. I need you to listen to me. You listening?”

            She nodded and sniffled.

            “This is not your friend. Friends don't hurt people. This is one of the bad guys and I'm here to help you escape. But you have to be brave for me.”

            She shook her head as the shadow grew closer, “You can't. No one can.”

            “We can. My friend is right outside. He'll help us. Now, we are going to have to run, okay?” He held out his hand.

            A tall humanoid shape manifested from the shadow. It's raspy voice filled the air, “You mustn't touch the children.”

            A savage roar echoed as Nyhtwulf flew into the room and tried a flying tackle. Since both of them were intangible it worked. The two of them went through the far wall. Blacktide snatched up the surprised girl in his arms and ran out the door.

            “Out of my way now!” he shouted as an orderly almost stepped in front of him. The rest wanted nothing to do with the situation and were glad to stay out of it.

            “He's not my friend?” Isa asked as she clutched tight to his shoulder.

            “No. He's not.”

            “Is he the Boogey man?”

            “I don't know, Isa, but we're going to find out. Did he ever mention having a name?” He raced into a stairwell to avoid being caught in the elevator.

            “Silhouette.”

            “Wow, that's a big word for a little kid. I wonder why he calls himself that?”

            At that moment, the shadowy creature came through the door behind them, but Nyhtwulf was on him again and they spun out a nearby window. As the two struggled with each other they rolled and flew through walls of patients’ rooms and doctor's offices. People fled and screamed at the sight of them. Since this place was a psychiatric hospital, matters were worse. Patients suffering anxiety disorders were in total panic. Much of the staff were too busy dodging for themselves to contain panicking patients.

            “I am having difficulty containing him. Do you have a plan?” Nyhtwulf's voice came again into Larry’s mind.

            “Get him outside. That's where I'm going.”

            Knowing that Nythwulf and Silhouette weren't far behind, he found the first door on ground level he could and burst outside. Alarms blared but they were the least of his worries. He ran across the green lawn to a small grove of trees and bushes. He set Isa down.

            “You hide in there. We'll deal with this guy now.”

            Isa didn't argue. She crawled into the thick of the bushes and curled up tight, hugging her knees. “He'll burn you.”

            “Not if I burn him first. Now close your eyes tight until I tell you to open them.” He didn't want the scene to terrify her further andcould think of nothing else to protect her.

           

Nyhtwulf and the Silhouette spun out into the air, snarling, swiping and clawing at each other. Even though they could connect somewhat, they didn't seem able to hurt each other very much. Blacktide raised the intensity of his disintegration field around his body. The ground at his feet began to smoulder. He had no idea if his power could work on such a being. He had never tried before. He raised his hand and took aim. He didn't want to hit his partner. Could his power hurt Nyhtwulf? This thought caused him to pause. He didn't want to hurt another friend with his power ever again; especially not his best friend and partner.

            “The child, the child!” it snarled as it finally broke free and lunged for Blacktide.

            “Now! Have faith my friend and strike now!” Larry  hated it when Nyhtwulf shouted in his head, but this time it was for good cause. It shook him back to reality and he fired his power just as the beast was within inches of him. Disintegration makes kind of a low coughing “whump” noise barely audible to human ears. The energy beam hit the shadowy Silhouette and actually threw the entity backwards a few yards. The Silhouette dropped to its knees, clutching what appeared to be its chest. Its red eyes opened wide as if it were as surprised. Nyhtwulf flew up behind it and ghosted a hand through its head. Nyhtwulf’s unique power to disrupt mental and life energies took effect. The entity gave a terrible shriek that rattled windows and made everyone cover their ears. Then it exploded in all directions like shadows running from rays of the sun.

As the ringing in his ears wore off, Blacktide stood back up from one knee and looked around.
            “It is gone,” Nyhtwulf said as he shook off the effect by rattling his big head back and forth. “I no longer sense it.”

            “Guess we won't know what its deal was then,” he looked back to Isa and knelt near the bushes. “Hey, you okay? Come on out and meet my friend. I promise you he's nice.”
            Isa accepted a hand to help her out of the bushes. She looked up at Nyhtwulf in wonder.

            “Are you a dog man?”

            He chuckled softly, “I look like one don't I?”

            “Do you sense any reason that thing was interested in her?” Blacktide asked.

            “I sense dormant psychic ability in her. It is possible it was drawn to that, particularly because she is a child.”

            “Will he come back?” Isa asked.

            “I don't think so. And if it does, we'll send it running,” Blacktide said. “But how would you like to go to a much nicer place than this?”

            “Is it a hospital?”

            “Kinda, but way cooler than this one. You can even have a ride on my motorcycle.” He spoke of a hospital for people with powers. It was a place that existed to study developing powers in people and help them with control if needed.

            “That would be nice,” she looked up at Nyhtwulf, “but I'd really like to fly. Will he carry me?”

            Larry smiled, “Ask him.”

            Nyhtwulf was too happy to oblige, for the joy of a child.

GZ Tales: Imaginary Enemy: Part 1

 

“I don't know what you think you're getting away with, young lady,” the nurse scolded the red headed little girl.

            The child sat on her hospital bed with her knees in her arms, rocking slightly. Tears streamed down her face. “You shouldn't yell at me,” she murmured.

            “What?” the nurse scowled at the audacity. “How dare you? I've never met an eight year old with such horrible manners!” The lecture continued but the little girl buried her face in her knees. The metal service table next to her bed trembled as if in a light earthquake. The nurse took no notice of this, being too upset at what she saw as rude and disrespectful behavior. In a far corner of the room a shadow formed and grew out across the walls and ceiling, reaching up over the nurse’s head.

            “You need to look at me when I'm talking to you, little missy!”

            The little girl looked up, her face soaked with tears. Her expression was one of agony, “You should run now,” she said desperately, “Please run away.”

            The nurse looked up to the darkness that now obscured the view of part of the room. The girl hid her face sobbing, “No, no, no.”

            A new raspy voice floated into the room, “You mustn't suffer the children.”

            The nurse screamed. The sound echoed across the hospital ward, startling patients and staff. Staff members ran to the sound, finding the air thick with the smell of rancid smoke and burning flesh.

            Larry Peters pulled his motorcycle into the parking garage across from the government office he worked at. His long blonde hair was windblown, but he didn't care. He hated helmets. The Parahuman Activity Commission (PAC) existed to investigate threats conventional law enforcement couldn't handle. He was better known by his operating handle, Blacktide. His name came from his ability to emit disintegration energy from his body. Disintegration energy is like a beam of darkness or shadow that can move as fast as light.

             Before Blacktide joined up with PAC he had trouble controlling his powers. This caused great anxiety for him. He always worried for friends and anyone he might come to care for. His powers manifested at a very young age. Larry and his parents were sitting at breakfast when a surge of his power made him and orphan. The event lives on his nightmares to this day.

 Then he met his partner, a Twilie Demon called Nyhtwulf. When they first met, the demon formed a psychic bond with Larry. That bond allowed him to buffer Larry's powers and help him control them. At first it was a violation of Larry’s extremely private life. However, they soon became the best of friends and trusted partners.

            As Larry parked his bike, Nyhtwulf was nearby in his favorite delicatessen. Seeing the shadowy werewolf-like being with huge black feathery wings come in to the cafe always raised eyebrows and got attention. Since he usually moved intangibly, he never bothered to open the door. Nyhtwulf would just ghost through it, often startling patrons. Since his motives were always friendly, he never understood the fuss. The owner had come to accept it, especially since Nyhtwulf was a paying customer with a big appetite. Nyhtwulf had come for an entire box of his favorite treat, bite sized cream cheese cubes in foil wrappers.

            “Here you go, just the way you like them and on your tab,” said the man at the register.

Nyhtwulf snatched up the box with a lupine grin, “Thank you!”

            On his way out the deli, he tore open the box and popped a handful into his mouth, wrappers and all.

            “I see you picked up your afternoon snack,” Larry said as he walked up on the busy New York City street.

            “Yes, it's what I left early for.”

            The two of them shared a high loft apartment where Nyhtwulf could enjoy views of the city and Larry could get some peace and quiet. They walked across the street to the office building. Inside, they were greeted by Sally, the receptionist, who gave them a sweet smile.

            “He's waiting for you and in a mood,” she said.

            Commander Henry P. Larratus was always in a gruff mood and short on patience. He expected jobs to be done quickly and efficiently. Sometimes, the members of PAC liked to aggravate him just to see his bald head turn red. They were, however, careful not to do that too much. Blacktide and Nyhtwulf went straight to his office to see what the news was.

            “It's about time you two got here,” Larratus grumbled as they walked in. “I've got one that's right up your alley, Blacktide. A little girl who may be developing dangerous powers. Burned a nurse pretty badly in the psych ward this morning. Here, read the report.” He tossed a folder across the desk but didn't wait for a response, “I want you to find out if she's developing or if it's something else. Now get going.”

            Once you're dismissed by Commander Larratus, it means he has nothing more to tell you so it's useless to ask. Larry took the folder and walked out of the office. He went to his desk to look it over. As he read the nurse's story it reminded him very much of his own. Thanks to their psychic link, Nyhtwulf read the information at the same time without having to look.

            “She's just like me,” Larry said.

            “Perhaps,” Nyhtwulf answered as he put his box of cream cheese in their office refrigerator.

            They set out immediately. The story of a little girl named Isa had piqued Larry’s interest. Nyhtwulf flew overhead as Blacktide rode his motorcycle through the thick daily traffic.

The psychiatric hospital lay on the outskirts of the city in a peaceful green country setting. Pine trees and green rolling hills complimented the place's floral and well kept grounds. Inside, half of the children's wing had been evacuated. No one dared enter the little girl's room. When Blacktide and Nyhtwulf arrived they could see the relief in faces of the staff.

“No one can move her and we're done trying,” and orderly said, “Our head nurse suffered third degree burns all over her body.”

            “Just tell me which room is hers,” Larry said, not caring for the dismissive attitude he saw mixed in with their fear. He couldn't shake how everyone turned their backs on him once too. They blamed him for his powers when he never even asked to have them. They were afraid of him.

            “Room 115. Just don't upset her. That's when things go bad. Watch out for the shadows.”

            Larry walked away from the orderly abruptly and headed for the room.

            “I will wait outside in order not to frighten the child,” Nyhtfwulf suggested. “I do sense something.”

            “Good idea. What is it?”

            “I'm not sure yet.”

            Isa sat on her bed just as before and looked up when Larry knocked on the door frame. He took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his leather jacket.

            “Hey there.”

            “Are you here to take me away?”

            “Do you want me to?”

            She shrugged, “I don't know if you can.”

            “Well, let's not think about that then. Instead, do you like stories?”

            Hesitantly she nodded.

            “May I come in and sit in that chair?”

            Again she nodded.

            “My name's Larry, but they call me Blacktide. What's your name?”

            “Isa.”

            “I like that name.”

            She perked up a little, “So, what's your story about?”

            Larry leaned forward in his chair, “Well, when I was just a little older than you, something really weird happened to me.” At the sound of this she perked up even more.

            “I found out that I had an amazing ability. I could turn anything around me into smoke. It's call disintegration. Do you know what happened after that?”

            She shook her head, wide-eyed with wonder.

            “Everyone got scared of me.”

            “Everyone is scared of me too!” Isa exclaimed, “Do you also have an imaginary friend?”

            “Imaginary friend?”

            “I have an imaginary friend, but he's not very nice. Is yours nice?” The table next to the bed shook slightly.

GZ Tales: The Bard's Apple Pie Part 2

 

“Before you ask, I'll tell you,” the guitar-man said, “Those are Rotanian soldiers. They're a cold relentless army of robots from another world.” 

            “Those are robots?” Rick gasped. Unable to stand it any further, the guitar-man reached out and brushed away the egg from Rick's mustache. 

            “Yes. Robots. They're why I'm here. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try and save your town.”

            “Who are you?” Joe asked. 

            “I'm Rockaria,” he handed Joyce a hundred dollar bill, “Awesome pie!” Then he stepped out the door and into the street. As he did, he brought his guitar around in front of him and adjusted the strap. He stopped in the middle of the street facing the Rotanians. 

            “What's he doing?” Lee asked. 

            “He'll be killed,” Joyce said. 

            Without hesitation, they fired at him. He gripped the neck and threw his fingers across the strings. For an electric guitar, it needed no power source that anyone could see. It roared a chord that shook the ground and the energy bolts exploded several feet before they could reach him. It was like they hit an invisible wall. All the dust on him and his guitar burst away from them and his instrument shined magnificently in the sun. 

            The strange robots fired on him again to the same result. He turned slightly and pointed the neck end as he played a long series of notes that would make legendary rockers proud. A bolt of lightning flew from the neck to the lead Rotanian. It arced to the rest and blew all six of them apart. 

            “He is good,” Joe said. 

            “Shut up, I'm trying to pay attention to this,” Rick said. 

            “Rick, you're a jerk,” Joyce added. 

            Rockeria spun just in time to throw a chord that stopped another barrage of rifle fire. More soldiers came from the other direction. 

            “Aw, come on. They didn't just send foot soldiers! Where's the big stuff?” he chided them as he played a new arrangement. 

            The robots shook in the throw of the sonic assault and their heads exploded. Then two new robots appeared out of thin air from teleportation. These were different in that each had a four point silver star on the front of its helmet. 

            “Starhunters, it's about time,” Rockaria said. 

            They vanished as he played frantically and reappeared near him. They attacked like master martial artists punching and kicking his barrier from all directions. Suddenly, one seemed to connect and Rockaria was tossed through the window of a shop across the street. 

            “Oh no,” Joyce exclaimed. 

            “Is he dead?” Joe asked. 

            A Starhunter jumped through the window after him but a bright beam of light caught it in the chest. Its arms and legs landed in the street. Its  head landed on the sidewalk near the cafe. 

            “Nope, still kickin,” Rick reported. 

            Another beam went after the second Starhunter but it vanished again. This time a field of crackling energy formed and caught it as it reappeared. It stood stunned as he played the beam of light through its head. 

            “Now, I know better than to think we're done already,” Rockaria said.

            As if in answer, he heard the hum of extraterrestrial machinery as the bizarre looking tank rumbled into view. It rolled on studded treads and gleamed with black and silver metals. Its barrel was wide and kind of flattened and glowing with power. It leveled the barrel to aim and fired an intense beam of energy. The ground where Rockaria stood exploded in a cloud of debris and dirt. 

            “Oh, now he's dead,” Joyce shook her head. 

            “No, look over there!” Rick shouted. 

            “How'd he get over there?” Lee asked. 

            Rockaria stood on top of the tank. Its turret turned looking for him and he held his playing hand high. He brought it down hard on the strings and another explosion shook the whole street. Bits of metal rained down all around. Rockaria now stood on top of the building across from the cafe. 

            “Now what's he doing?” Rick asked. 

            “I don't know but this beats every rock concert I ever went to,” Joe said. 

            “Okay, come on,” Rockaria said, “I've shown plenty of resistance. Come out and let's finish this!” 

            A great shadow appeared over the street as the ship hovered over the town. It dwarfed the tank and probably carried everything he had fought so far. 

            “Now, we're talking,” Rockaria said. He started a new range of notes and his guitar took on a fierce glow. The more he played, the brighter it grew. From the craft, what could only be described as several red targeting beams converged on him. Brighter and brighter he glowed, until the people in the cafe had to shield their eyes. On board the ship, the main weapon charged, preparing to destroy him and the building he stood on. 

Now, the brightness engulfed all the area around him and even the ships systems had a hard time seeing him. The enemy pressed the button to fire their weapon. The explosion shattered every window in town on every car, truck and building. Joyce, Rick, Joe, and Lee were all thrown to the floor with an echoing ringing in their ears. As it faded, they slowly stood up. All they could see outside was a wall of smoke. For several minutes they stared and wondered if their town was still there. This time they thought Rockaria had to be gone with it all. 

Then they heard that guitar begin to play again. A wind rose and blew the smoke away. The ground trembled and cracks grew back together. The glass on the ground flew back into the frame like in a backwards movie. The same thing happened all across town as the damage reversed itself from the notes he played. The ship was gone and so were any signs of the Rotanians.

 The townsfolk went outside and met Rockaria as he wandered up in the street. 

            “They were going to raze your town and kill you all for mineral deposits here. Deposits they would use to make more robots.” 

            “How'd you know they were coming here?” Joyce asked. 

            “Well, it's a long story, but my guitar told me. Besides, isn't it obvious I'm not from around here?” 

            “Just a minute,” Lee ran back into the cafe and returned with a small white box. “Here. A pie to go.” 

            “Hey, thanks. This really is great pie.” 

            “What are you?” Joyce asked. 

            “I'm a bard. I use music to cast magic. Well, you'll be safe now, so you all take care,” he turned and vanished from sight. 

           The next day they changed the menu and became known for “The Bard’s Apple Pie,” the best pie in the county.

 

The Power of NOT Giving Up

Sometimes I feel like I’m putting out content no one cares about. Do you know what I do then? I keep going. I keep creating and I don’t give up.

One of the hardest things on anyone who puts out content is silence. It’s worse than low book sales or even long periods of low sales and lack of reviews. It’s the kind of thing that makes you want to sit on the corner with a tin cup with the work “likes” on the side.

In reality, it is just another obstacle. It gives me cause to regroup and refocus on my goals and remind myself why I’m posting that content in the first place. Yes, I want my audience to see it. I want to grow that audience for the art, the stories, and everything else. The only way I can do that, is to keep building first and foremost.

That isn’t to say I’m not looking for new ways to market myself. I’m a one man band still and marketing is the hardest part of the job. It requires people and I’m incredibly thankful for the few I have. It requires advertising, and that is the one major budget issue I lack.

The simple truth is, if I don’t build and hopefully improve what people see, there won’t be anything to market in the first place.

And there are a hundred more creators, thousands, just like me. The competition is staggering and getting people into new characters and stories isn’t as easy as it sounds.

There there’s my health. With my new diagnosis of diabetes that doesn’t play well with Multiple Sclerosis, I’m challenged even further in my abilities to continue. To say that I work through adversity is putting it lightly. Some days, I can’t create at all and it always feels like a major setback when I don’t get any of it done because I’m laid up recuperating from an MS flare up. And now you might wonder if this is all I have to contend with in my path. It isn’t.

Because I am published through Amazon (yes self published) there is a terrible conception that a self published author isn’t a real author. And yes, that statement has been delivered to me more than once. I brush it off and keep going. When that person goes, “Oh, you’re self published” with that slight expression of disdain; I just smile and nod.

I keep a list of reasons not to give up. And I value those reasons more than I give credence to my obstacles. As I keep teaching my son, attitude is everything.

So I hope you enjoy these black and whites of characters that I recently finished and maybe can apply this to your own goals in creativity or whatever. Meanwhile, I have more creating to do. How about you?

Short Fiction: It's a Blitz! (Part 1)

Metallic clanking echoed up and down the street. It took its half of the road out of the middle. New York City traffic stumbled to halt as the big machine rolled into place. The treads bit into the asphalt tearing chunks loose and leaving a trail. Worried exclamations of people sounded all around, and horns blared. Small shops lined either side with patrons filling the sidewalks. Everyone stopped to regard the tank-like vehicle and its smooth shiny surfaces. It had no hatch, or visible weaponry and it didn’t move for several minutes as people gathered.

The police arrived and an officer started knocking on the metal hull.

               “All right, come on out.”

A whirring sound responded to him and panels opened on either side of the vehicle to reveal speakers. From the front and back even larger speakers rotated out from the hull. The speakers started to blast the opening to the song ‘Ballroom Blitz’ as more panels opened on the head of the tank. Large gun barrels protruded from five sides of the upper portion. People were already running at this point. As the song reached “All right fellas, let’s goooo” the guns began firing and the top of the tank rotating. The volume of the music could easily be heard over the blasting of the cannons.

Store fronts exploded into confetti sized debris. Most cars were below the line of fire, but trucks were cut in half. Light poles fell over like fresh mowed grass. People ran, screamed, or threw themselves to the pavement. The guns fired well above their heads, but debris still threatened to kill many.

When you can move at twice the speed of light, sound means nothing. There isn’t any. Electrode could see the paths of heavy caliber bullets lined up in the air. He could see people on the verge of being trampled as they fell under the panicked crowd. He had a choice to make. He could grab bullets or grab people. At his speed, he could collect all the bullets currently airborne and remove them. If he did, he would have to compensate for the speed of the bullets or risk blowing his own hands apart in the process. Where ever he moved them, they would still have their own velocity and direction to deal with. He could cancel that velocity for some, but not all. So, people it was. He had been told to remove the people anyway. After all, he didn’t come alone.

Electrode, with care for his own velocity against human bodies, removed everyone from close proximity to the death machine. He took them to the lower level of a nearby parking garage. There were enough large buildings between the machine and the garage that it wouldn’t be hit at all. While this task seemed to be done instantly, for Electrode it was a painstaking process of care and control. He could never forgive himself if he splattered someone’s mother all over a wall.

As the firing and music continued, Electrode’s partner watched the sidewalks clear of people so he could do his part. He floated in the form of simple air, unaffected by the enhanced bullets flying through him. They called Sandstorm the most powerful elemental in the world. Even with such a title, this would not be so easy. Buildings in close quarters and a sewer system with active gas mains provided complications. He couldn’t just command the street to uproot on the machine without collateral damage and greater threats. As it were, the bullets were about to cleave through close buildings and into the ones beyond.

A loud CRACK sound told Sandstorm that Electrode was in the fight. As the nuclear electric man, Electrode had more than just speed. He struck the vehicle with a powerful strobe of nuclear lightning.

 

               “That didn’t get through the hull! It’s insulated too well!” Electrode shouted.

               “I have an idea.” Sandstorm made his voice boom through the air.

               “Well do it quick. This song and destruction combo is getting annoying.”

               Sandstorm could manifest himself as any combination or elements or weather. He even made himself a giant at times of various combinations. He flew over the top of the tank machine and manifested himself as a giant humanoid of pure iron ore. He landed on the top swivel and grappled the cannons. The barrels twisted under him and a loud screeching noise sounded. Metal within the turning apparatus ground together and snapped as the sides blew out. The music slurred and stopped.

Still in his giant form, Sandstorm gripped the top of the tank and tore it off to see who was driving. He dropped the junked lid in disgust and turned back to a normal sized human being.

               “Fry the inside of that please.” Sandstorm said.

               “Who’s in it?”

               “No one. It’s a robot and I don’t want any surprises.”

               Electrode jumped up on it and melted everything within in a bright flash of power.

               “Who made this? The Raven?” Electrode asked about one of their worst enemies.

               “I don’t know. Raven usually tries to kill us, not everyone else. This isn’t like him.”

               “Professor Zombie?”

               “Again, why? Zombie wants to turn everyone into his hench-people. This doesn’t work for him either.”

               “Terrorism?”

               “That’s a possibility. There’s definitely a psychological approach to this with that song. Whoever did this, wanted to create a presence for themselves.”

               “Showmaster.” Electrode nodded. “This would definitely be like him, but who would be paying him?”

               “That’s the million-dollar question.”

(Yep, that's where this one ends, folks! Who is behind this bizarre attack? Be sure to follow for new stories, articles, and updates.)

Blog Fiction: A Wizard's trip to the Bank

Boreas in his more magical garb

Mark strode into the bank with angry confidence. This was the day. This was the day he would get what the world owed him. No one batted an eye at his heavy puffy coat as he made his way to the center of the lobby floor. Patrons and tellers were busy with transactions while the security guard read a newspaper.

"EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR NOW!" Mark shouted as he threw his coat open revealing the explosives he had strapped to himself. In his hand he held the dead man's switch. "IF I LET GOT OF THIS WE ARE ALL DEAD!" He turned to the security guard who now second guessed reaching for his gun.

"Lay down on the floor, badge!" Mark warned him.

Panicked patrons did as he asked, except for one. On calm man stood by a table littered with forms. He appeared distinguished in his three piece suit and trilby hat. His reddish brown mustache twirled upward in undeniable style. As the man regarded a piece of paper with scrutiny, he all but ignored Mark.

"Hey! Are you deaf or stupid? Get on the floor!" Mark shouted.

"I do believe I will decline that invitation." Said the man. "A person doesn't dress like this to rub himself on filthy tile."

"Just who do you think you are? I'm the guy in control here! I'll kill everyone!"

"Please, sir, just listen to him." A woman on the floor said.

"Not to worry, young lady, as they say in the comics, I've got this." He turned his gaze back to Mark and slapped the paper on the table. "As for who I am; I am Boreas the Wizard. You are Mark Boggs and you are going to jail today without blowing up anyone."

"A wizard? Are you kidding me? Are you senile?"

"Hardly." Boreas gestured with a hand and made a few symbolic flexes of his fingers.

"What was that?" Mark asked in exasperation and held out the dead man's switch. "Maybe you'd like to see my hand gestures?"

"Go ahead. You're vest is full of silly putty. Quite harmless. But then, you are also threatening me with a potato."

Mark looked to his hand in astonishment. He was indeed clenching a harmless potato. This was all the security guard needed as a cue to tackle Mark to the floor. People gasped and some sighed in relief.

"Wow. Are you really magic, sir?" A little boy rushed up and asked Boreas.

Boreas knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes I am and you are safe now. Say, would you like to see another trick?"

The boy nodded with excitement.

"Then behold! I just turned Mark's socks into peanut butter!"

"HEY!" Mark shouted as he was cuffed and dragged away. "MY FEET!"

Boreas ruffled the little boy's hair and stood up. He took up his deposit slip in hand.

"Now were was I? Oh yes. Back to business."

Character spotlight: Falconer and Sersi

His real name is Dar Macabon and he lived on the planet Chyssia as leader of the royal guard for many years. Then his team was framed for the murder of the king and they were forced to flee to protect their infant princess. Because Chyssia is where the game of Chess really originated, they were called chessmen without a king and the name stuck. They became the Chessmen, fighting to go back home.

Dar earned the name of Falconer when he rescued an injured red falcon in the mountains. But this was no ordinary bird. Her name is Sersi, a mystical falcon and very rare. Being highly intelligent and capable of speech were only the beginning with her. Sersi is an amateur spell caster and getting stronger every year. For the sake of her team she specializes in healing magics, but her combat prowess is nothing to dismiss. Her power dive comes with a peal of thunder and red lightning. She can fell a thick tree with one pass.

Dar has power over the elements and weather. He can generate storms and manipulate elements in any form. He can make earth churn like water and shape fire into anything  he can think of. He can generate micro winds for shoving people out of they way or full force hurricanes. In a major fight he prefers lightning but is highly practiced in every angle of his abilities.

When it comes to his team, Dar is deeply concerned with their innocence and the effects of being forced away from home. His leadership is firm yet caring and conscientious. Sersi is in love with him but keeps that fact well hidden, hoping to one day change form to a humanoid woman for him. Together they inspire a team loyalty that surpasses most similar hero teams.

Dar's most notable drawback is his personal guilt over what happened to his team and the situation they are in.  He feels he should have seen the whole thing coming and no one, not even Sersi, can convince him otherwise. (Avoiding spoilers, you'll just have to read Chessmen to find out.) Dar also prefers to avoid combat if possible, but he isn't afraid to deal punishment to anyone who earns it.

Falconer and Sersi in combat are a fearsome force to behold. If he doesn't have to worry about his teammates, he and Sersi can clear a battlefield of minor threats in seconds. He can obliterate heavy artillery and possibly even throw it into orbit. Both of them can fly in space with assistance of Sersi's magic and Falconer's ability to carry an aura of sustainable atmosphere with him. He can channel lightning in space, but the lack of other elements restricts his abilities.

Their dedication to the princess is stronger than any known bond and they protect her with their lives. The only thing more powerful is the drive to take her and the team back home.

No Trespassing (Blog fiction)

The great fan of the air boat roared in their ears as they sped across the waters of southern Louisiana. They held their guns ready for anything in their path on the way to the meetup. The buyer wanted sufficient tree cover in the swamp for the purchase. Lemmy didn’t like the idea but he had drugs to sell. A buyer’s eccentricity could be tolerated most of the time. The coordinates led to an arrangement of shacks on stilts over the water. No one lived in them. They were entirely for deals like this. They were meant to look like some swamp person’s little hideaway. Something people in those parts left alone on general principle.

“There. There they are. Pull right up to them.” Lemmy said to his pilot. He adjusted his tie and tapped a finger on his machine gun strapped over his shoulder. Two more boats of Lemmy’s boys followed them in.

Booker and his guys were in row boats and pirogues. They came out of a part of the swamps you couldn’t take an airboat through. He preferred using thick trees to cover his exploits and knew he was tough to follow. He smiled revealing gaps from missing teeth and the sun shined on his bald head. Lemmy and his boys were suits and ties. Booker’s were scrap shirts and jeans. Lemmy liked machine guns while Booker’s guys carried rifles and shot guns.

Lemmy gave a friendly salute as his boat came nose to nose with Booker’s.

“You think you could pick and uglier place to meet?” Lemmy joked.

“What? You don’t like the greenery?” Booker gestured in a wide sweep of his arms. “This is home. Don’t talk bad about my home now.”

“Take it easy. I’m just busting your balls. I got your order here. Two waterproof plastic crates of white gold, just like you asked.”

“Excellent. We have your money the same way.”

A loud and low growling sound echoed through the shacks and across the water. All the men did double-takes of their environment to see what did it. They saw nothing.

“What the hell was that?” Lemmy said.

“Probably just the rugaroo. Legends around these parts say there’s a monster. Oooooo. Ha. I don worry bout it none. It’s not real.” Booker laughed.

That’s when a shack exploded off its stilts and flew over their heads with a savage snapping of wood pillars. Lemmy dropped to his knees while two of his men went into the water. Booker fell off his boat with a splash. The beast in the shack’s place stood 14 feet tall and nearly as wide. It had the head of the biggest alligator you could dream of and stegosaurus plates reached up from its back. Gator hated evil in his swamp. The legends were true.

Gator had been watching Booker and his men. He knew these men were up to no good and in his swamp to boot. Ever since evil men used science to make him into a monster, he patrolled his swamp. Not even littering college students escaped his wrath. But he only scared those. These men needed more convincing. Gator was happy to oblige. With a whip of his thick powerful tail, he turned the shack he hid behind into a flying arrangement of kindling.

Men yelled in terror at the sight of him and opened fire in panic. It didn’t matter what kind of guns they had, the bullets were worth less than falling acorns. Gator let out a roar that rippled the water and pushed boats away. Then he charged into their midst. He snatched a rowboat out of the water with one enormous hand, flinging its occupants into the air. He threw that boat at one of the air boats, smashing both to bits. More men were thrown into the drink. Two were severely injured.

Gator didn’t want to kill anyone. He did want to make sure he left a lasting impression on these men to never come here again. Another whip of his tail capsized every one of Booker’s remaining boats with a powerful splash and wave of swamp water. Another stilted shack collapsed into so much driftwood garbage. In moments, only Lemmy remained on his boat and all others were trashed. Booker stood up in the water choking for breath.

Gator grabbed Booker up out of the water and put him on the airboat next to Lemmy. He took up both plastic containers of drugs in one huge hand and showed them to the men. Gator cocked his arm back like a professional baseball pitcher and threw the two containers out toward the Gulf of Mexico. The two shocked men watched as over a million dollars in cocaine flew out of sight into the distance.

Gator turned back to the men and roared in their faces as they screamed like children. Lemmy felt himself defecate.

Gator left them with one word before turning and lumbering away.

“GO.”

Before disappearing into the trees, Gator picked up some wreckage and threw it at the last standing shack, reducing it to splinters.

Now they knew the legends were true. Word still got around. It’s his swamp. No trespassing.

Summer Board Game Update and More

Daxeon, Vengor Angel-Chessmen

It's hard to keep a blog up to date when you have so much to do in development, writing and art. I'm going to touch on all three of these today and more.

GZ New York only needs it's box design and rule book in order to be finished. Then I have to order a set from TheGameCrafter.com  and make sure it all looks right. If you've been following along, you know this expansion has more components than I've ever put in a game. That is all thanks to suggestions from you, my awesome readers. I know blogger makes it difficult to post comments directly and that may make for some changes in the future. But you've let me know what you thought. I know the box can be one of the most critical designs of all so I'm brainstorming hard on how to put it together to be better than anything I've done.

At this point the game cost looks to be around 80 dollars retail and that's not gaining a lot for myself. But then, I don't think I'm quite known or selling enough to raise prices. If I can get known and move my brand to a full on publisher, the cost may just go down. Who can say. But I know people are willing to pay that much and more for games by going out and talking with people. From what I've gathered. GZ New York may just take over the game representation for my brand. So much to decide and none of it easy.

My writing has been interrupted via genre. A non-fiction project has jumped to front burner and I'm nearly done with it. I'm not saying too much about it here because it needs its own special reveal and launch past this blog posting. Still, my next book of short stories is halfway done and I'll be starting a new novel soon as well. I already started it, its just hard to write so many projects at the same time. My brain loves to try. The book series has been hard to get out to people and I've been trying out Facebook ads. For a free book, it went pretty well. About 40% of people who clicked on the book, took one. No one has come back and given any reviews yet, but 40% is a pretty good number. I just hope doing a non-fiction project helps get my brand noticed a bit more.

Ah, the artwork. Art is such a fickle thing and is the most criticized of any factor in game or book cover development. Because I am still at such a grass roots level, I'm still doing over 90% of the art myself. Because my hands have gotten worse, I've had to learn new digital techniques with mixed media and layering to make it work better. Some have said it's the best work I've put out to date. I have my critics though. I've been told plenty of times that I'm not good enough. Some of this criticism came with a dollar amount. If I don't pay someone over a thousand dollars for artwork, it will be unacceptable. That's fine and all, but I've seen plenty of work that someone paid out the nose for, that people still hated. With my art, I aim for engaging, colorful, and fun. I aim for a comic bookish style that relates to the type of characters I create. And I constantly look to learn new things as best I can.

I do wish I had a team and a company to put this out because I know its good. I know it can be a great success. I just need to keep on trying. So the fight goes on. Now I have a couple of questions for you my readers. I do hope I get some feedback from this.

First of all, how do you like the new layout of the blog? I  have had some input that white letters on black are faux p aux and not liked that much. Darker letters on lighter color, they said. So here is a try at that. Please let me know what you think. I tried to get black lettering, but I would have to lose the cosmic backdrop for that to work.

Second, I started up a mailing list and have been working on getting readers to sign up. I've only done four newsletters and the percentage of people opening them has been pretty dismal. When I compare it to the views I get right on this blog, it's an enormous gap. Over 100 readers click on this blog. Out of 30 subscribers to the email news letter, less than 10% open the email. What do you think? Should I keep putting time into the newsletter? Or should I just stick with the blog and keep asking people to subscribe? Let me know. I value your input.

Till next time!