The Wickedest King

First meeting of the most wicked King of Mithar

“She wanted to birth you sons.  She had twins, girls instead, and one of them died in childbirth.  Because of the loss, and it not being a son you refused to lie with her again.  In that deep sorrow and the shame you heaped upon her, darkness sank her heart but never her love for you.  It came to pass in the depths of that sadness she neglected her babe and slept atop her by misfortune.  In this second loss Reyon could not recover and walked out into the waters of the Bay before us without swimming.

The Prophetess Aerie

The Calling of Aerie

"...As the Lady Lillikiss replied suddenly all the others stopped their doings and took notice of me and she in conversation.  “Oh dear child, you are most blessed, for you alone are gifted..."d with looking upon the dead and still be among the living.  See, as we are now moved to impress hope and joy upon you over the depressing fear of passing over into our realm.  You are indeed of great importance and matter greatly my child.”

INTRODUCTION TWR

   In a post middle earth world, a remnant of the elves stayed behind.  In doing so they developed a cultic history where idealist doctrines centered themselves as divine teachers.  Beginning with a boxed-scroll, the Watcher’s personal stories and later histories; these collected works became their sacred Scriptures.  The Keepers were called: The Order of the Red Brotherhood.  Their WATCHER’S BOOK and its forgotten religion witnessed the coming, not only of Noah’s Flood but the end of The Nephilim Age as well. 

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My New ""Normal""

   I have a Mental Health Disorder; labeled "Bipolar".  Exemplified by grave mood swings and emotional bouts and manic depressive thoughts into the dark side. I know others that have been dealing with the manic side's horrific state for longer, and far worse than my experience.  Don't let that define you, they tell me; it's just a tag to categorized you into.  I take Lithium to level off the chemical imbalances in my brain.  Though I know far many more people who take more psychotropic drugs and for far longer than I have, I'm still sticking with the program. Don't let it define you, they tell me; it's just a medication you take to control your disorder.  Disorder.  My ORDER was always an illusion I can 'normal'.

   My new normal, AS A WAY OF SUMMERY UPDATE; so far, is becoming use to the medication - feeling numb.  If light drowsy, headed and dizzy, numb around the edges is my new normal I suppose I've got it made then.  No dry mouth, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, tremors, boils, hallucinations, no pill rolling, nor even any exaggerated movements - at this junction to report.

  So far, I've not cried or felt like weeping over old buried luggage that should remain discarded.  I am trying to "feel" again or least get use to feeling what "normal" is.  I... I've never been "normal" before.  I like being happy; trying to understand that one too.

   Don't let things define you; make your own path.  One neat thing is I thought I would not be able to write and develop a closure to my short stories; I think (I hope) I am becoming more focused to that end.

...

Jorvain

   There was a man named Jorvain sod-Leman who lived just outside the city of Lindol in a shanty village called Tolvol.  He was a painter by trade with a wonderful talent, wit and a man of great character.  One day Jorvain was stung by a bee and became very ill.  Near death was he.  His wife Shaymale went into Lindol to get a doctor; who in turn gave Jorvain a healing ointment.  Though the salve worked it produced a rash requiring yet another Shaman’s learning. In time Jorvain had one physician after another.  Whatever they cured left an aliment worse that the last affliction leaving the need for yet another treatment and healer to be called for.  For twelve long hideous years was Jorvain afflicted with rashes, boils, headaches and stomach bleedings; and a host of others illnesses requiring attention from learned men.  

   One day as Jorvain was working in his garden, picking herbs to dry for yet another treatment for him to try, a stranger came walking by.  He said, “Oh son of the field what ails you today that man has not cured?”

   Jorvain looked up from the sage-grass he was pulling, and feeling angry called back, “Has another nobody come by to poke fun me yet again? Be gone stranger, all your pleasures can be had for the right coin over in Lindol.” Pointing to the city walls behind him Jorvain went back to his garden.

   The unmoved stranger said, “I am Kyon the son of Nadan.  I shall give you a joy that none have granted before and it shall make you rejoice to the Heavens.  The lessons learned from your dealings with men shall pale by comparison.”

   Intrigued by such boasting Jorvain inquired of the wanderer, “Honey laced with snake oil? Shall I climb Mount Ipstha and pluck a flower?”

  “For twelve years your afflictions have seen bleedings, boils and unceasing headache, but today the lone Lord of Heaven shall wash all the learnings of men away.  Obey me in this with haste and do not delay to go to the River Luhun that feeds the great Bay of Mithar.  Beneath its waters shall you bathe.  Upon arising the third time you will venture to your wife, Lindol and then the Priest of Mithar and tell them all you know one greater than them.”

   Jorvain was stunned by such simplistic talk.  A bath.  He had taken many bathes before and questioned why this kind of bath should be any different.  He had no use for the priest of Mithar, nor did he have an interest in contacting them.  The physicians of Lindol were as much use as sea shells to him as well.  Though he loved her greatly his wife was a constant complainer against his outcries. 

   “Heed my words now, and obey,” Said the stranger, desiring not to be questioned as he looked sternly at Jorvain.  He dropped the bundle of his gatherings and turned to leave for the river.  Turning back around, to inquire if tomorrow’s morning start would be better, Jorvain saw that Kyon was nowhere to be seen.   Jorvain called to Shaymale he was running errands.

   By late afternoon Jorvain had come to the banks of the river Luhun, a half mile south of the bridge, which lead to the northwestern Iron Hills.  As he entered the waters to bathe several people gathered about at such a sight, for Lindol was renowned for its public tiled-baths.  They laughed at the man with bleeding boils, and called after him that they were glad he had not gone to the city after all.  Jorvain removed his shirt and went beneath the waters a second time.  A guard from the city walls called for him to be removed for they found the open sores on his back offensive.
  As Jorvain came up from the waters a third time the two guards splashed back out of the water in wonderment.  The crowds gasped in disbelief.  Even Jorvain himself was bewildered by what that had occurred.  Then for a fleeting moment Jorvain caught sight of Kyon om'Dan in the gathered crowd smiling back at him.  As the moving crowds gathered, the person of the Prophet was lost among them.
  Jorvain began laughing and shouting praise to God above and calling every doctor by name a fool.  He excitedly returned home to his beloved wife and told her everything.  He went to every physician of Lindol and finally to Mithar and their priest.  Many of the priest renewed their love for the Lone Lord and praised Him for Jorvain’s healing. Everyday for the rest of his life Jorvain praised God and told everyone eager or not to hear that sometimes simplistic faith carries more healing power than all the efforts of men.

RAMORE

Ramore is the name of a group of trees that were taken from another forest as saplings.  The tender saplings were braided together, planted in a circle near the stone of a well spring.  When fully grown the encircling trees left a chambered area beneath their entangled branches.  This "chamber" was called RaMore by the last surviving Elven-nephilim of Eriduah.  The shrine became the meeting hall of the fleeing elves and its upper entangling of branches the King's home.  The Tree Shrine of RaMore was on the highest hill called Mount Keruel on the island of Eul.

JWs Refashioned...

THE CURE CRISIS

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

THE CHURCH
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    The booming voice of the priest bellowed out, "Since the days of the Last Administration, and the revelation that the Iran-Israeli Crisis of 2014 declared the official end of the Church Age; have we all struggled for meaning in our lives!”

    Matthew Daniels had grown up listening to such religious propaganda his entire life.  It seemed that every eight to twelve months, with the revelation of the latest “New Light” a new pet word or catch phrase was being ushered into everyone‘s vocabulary.  The old, out-of-dated phrases became a warning sign to the Faithful that a believer had gone astray.  Therefore, non-believers were easy to spot.  The rhetoric of terminology had changed over the years, but the theme remained the same: The Church was always on some razor’s edge of being snuffed out.  For persecution was a constant threat to stand up against.

   The High Bishop continued his call to the faithful with, “It was then that The Great Tribulation of the Saints began, and the flood gates of hell themselves were thrown open wide!" The speaker's voice rose as Amen resounded throughout the sanctuary's audience.  Accentuating a gesturing hand in the air, the ornately robed figure behind the lectern added, "Yet - yet, with the advent of the Emulator in our midst came the manifestation of the long prophesied Day of Resurrection of the true believers.  The spiritually destitute have been revitalized into the Global Order of this gathered Brotherhood today.  For only with the acceptance of this Divine light is there any hope beyond the sin of natural death.  Salvation is found only in the surrendering-release of the broken spirit, and only in His True Church!"

   The Lee-Roberts device had become a fixture in every Church, and almost as ubiquitous as the Crucifixion itself.  Its use was as common as the collection plate.  Everyone knew that, more than 12 units, (which equated to 12 years of an extended lifespan), caused a permanent side effect on the human body with its discoloration of the eyes.  It became the sign that a true Christian had indeed been “born again”.  For the physical mark of jaundiced eyes was an undeniable evidence of an inward spiritual change.  Sure, you could deny you ‘belonged’ to the Church, but the assumption was always there.  Yes, Satan had his counterfeit organization in the guise of the Underground’s misguiding’s, but it was The Church alone that could save one’s immortal soul; via the Emulator.

   Mathew had believed so much of the official, ever-changing doctrine for so long without question as a child; but, over the last few months he had begun reading the Scriptures himself.  Strange the difference he began noticing in his own head space of thinking.  It was beginning to dawn on him that the context of reading really seemed to vary drastically from what he had heard in Sanctuary all of his life.  For the more he read the more the message of the Church seemed to be beyond disturbing to him. At times it was just downright dishonest.
   One day, while passing along an alley way, one he had been down a hundred times before something caught his eye as if for the first time.  A worn and tattered poster of Smokey the Bear had been plastered on the vandalized brick wall squeezing the two buildings close together.  Its fading, bold print caption still read: ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT remained; the phrase “Forest fires” had been ripped off.  The badly stained poster underneath it was in even worse condition pasted over yet another copy of the same.  But it got Matthew to thinking, and the first thing that came to him was, ‘If not me then who’ is going to bring any change to the Church?
  From that moment onward Matthew Daniels had begun finding himself in troublesome conversation in his Church circles.  After the Sermon-talks on Sunday morning he would ask his own myriad of growing questions during the Study period instead of answering the stated ones.  The frustration of his peers mounted as they tried to fill in all the holes with “proof-text” doctrines that only lead to even more questions in Matthew’s aching head.

  Then one day the stomach churning realization struck Matthew undeniably when an Elder, Jonus Neardan said, “Need to be careful with all the questions Matt, some folks may think you’re becoming an Apostate.” Truth of the matter hit him square in the face. He was an Apostate.  Death was now on his heels.

FB-THE LESSON

   

   Eighty-seven year old Emily Madison found herself aimlessly wondering in the woods nearby her nursing home. Though she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer a few months back, to the devastation of her family, she had not yet descended into the bowls of its horrific hands, or so she thought. But still, she could not account for having wondered off into the woods alone by herself. The farther she followed the path the closer her bare feet brought her to the sound of voices. One was almost recognizable, the others too indistinct to make out.

   Suddenly, like a brilliant burst of soft light she felt herself being pulled backward. Landing in the past of her youth was excitingly mind whirling as she came to recognize her six year old self. Wearing a new Easter dress hunting for eggs along with a half dozen other children from Church. Emily smiled, remembering it was the day she first met Tommy Madison, later to become her husband of fifty-two years. Her home lay on the other side of the woods and through which she now suddenly found herself being flashed forward through to a secluded area.

   Seeing herself, now as a teenager, receiving her first kiss from Samuel Davenport took her breath away. Samuel’s tender advancements got out of hand and it was Tommy who had come along just in time to rescue her from being raped. Three days later they began seriously dating and became fast friends. Emily’s eyes teared up at seeing how heroic the smaller framed Tommy was, defending her honor against the brawn of Samuel‘s six foot stature. Tommy covered Emily with his coat and embraced her with every bit the savior he showed himself to be throughout their enduring marriage.

   

  Wanting so much to stay and relieve those moments, Emily felt the tug of fate whisk her away to yet another memory of their first born daughter’s wedding day. It had been performed by their pastor, Thomas Smith, standing atop a stump that marked the beginning of the Lakeview woods she so dearly loved. Michelle and her new husband would later give Tommy and Emily five grandchildren and nine great grandkids; all the joy of her life. Emily was so proud of how her life was turning out, seeing Michelle begin her live was like restarting her own all over again.

   Without warning she had again been thrown forward in time to her near present. She saw herself lying in her bed at the Lakeview Care Nursing Home. Standing over her was Angela Stillman, an RN every family member loved but the residents detested because of her two face-ness.

   Her nurse was now acting like an Angle of Mercy: smothering Emily with her own pillow. A panic attack of terror thrashed through Emily’s mind as all she could do was simply lay there without the use of her arms to fight back. The darkness engulfed her vision as her labored gasped were swallowed to a stop of nothingness.

Yet, out of the black void, Emily felt herself through the opened doors of her childhood church. Ever so slowly she glidingly floated down the center isle through the congregation filled pews toward the flower laden alter. Seeing an oversized portrait herself and several various pictures that had been taken throughout her life were surreal to observe. A strange yet unsettling happiness came over her at not seeing a casket but a beautifully decorated wooden urn. Her daughter had fulfilled Emily’s wishes of being cremated. It was rather bothersome to take in, hearing the somber pre-recorded music softly playing in the background overlaid with her family’s crying. Her favorite grandson; Albert’s weeping was most disturbing to Emily who wanted so much to console him that everything was alright, and that her newly diagnosed cancer was no longer an unbearable pain to endure.

   The eerie humming of low murmured voices began to grow louder, and came from all directions. She felt sick, uneasy in her stomach. Emily looked down to see her feet had burst into flames, with her legs and lower torso engulfed like smoldering ash amid the gathered logs of an outdoor camp fire. There was no burning sensation only the growing tingle of nausea growing in her thoughts. A nausea; like coming home from a great outing with your loved ones only to find your home had been burglarized, a gut wrenching wave of having victimized.

   The smoke had consumed Emily. In utter bewilderment she looked at both her raised hands, which now appeared almost transparent, for they existed only as smoky apparitions of their former state. Just when she wanted to scream out for someone to explain what was happening the answer came quickly on its own.

Her grandson, Albert, was standing several feet away from the bon fire Emily now found herself the center piece of; as a group of his friends were gathered in a circle about the burning logs.

     Emily’s mind was all a whirl as to why they were standing in the woods in the middle of the dark of winter. Was it a college fraternal gathering, she wondered? They were dressed in dark colored robes humming or chanting as Albert continued to walk backwards behind the gathering. He appeared to be empting a box of dust out upon the ground. Emily’s nausea tingled throughout her body as her hands became less smoke like and more solid.

     Stan Branford, Albert’s childhood friend was standing directly in front of Emily with his arms raised, dagger in hand, chanting, “Mah-thran You-Soor Veth-lu-mare Cor-van--” Then suddenly stopped. His half bored expression abruptly changed to one of total panic and fear. Just completing the Magick Circle, Albert caught a glimpse of his fully formed grandmother standing in the middle of the camp site’s fire, glaring angrily back at him. Albert stopped, frozen in his tracks staring at his grandmother’s burning yet unconsumed form in the fire before him. “Nan Na?!”

    Realizing that she had unwittingly been summonsed for protection, and her ashes used to outline the perimeter of where some conjured entity was allowed to appear set Emily off into a rage. She yelled at Albert, as the entire gathering stood frozen listening to her admonishments, “You left the Church for this? What’s wrong with you, boy? Your parents -- I taught you better than to fool around with all that Satanic nonsense.”

   Before she could berate him any farther, several thick armed tentacles came out of nowhere from up behind Emily. She began screaming at how she had been betrayed and who did they think they were to use her ashes in such a disrespectful manner, when all of a sudden the squid like arms began piercing through the air, lancing the gathered shadows before Emily. Bodies were entangled, waved in the air high above the darkened tree tops and smashed into the earth. Heads crushed, and bodies mangled. Two, three at a time the scattering statues were caught running for their lives only to be snuffed out by the multi-appendage creature. Finally, a great tentacle limb coiled itself around Albert’s trembling body. From foot to neck it grabbed him in mid scream he was silenced as the great arm slowly brought him gliding through the air to hover before Emily’s boring gaze.

   Softly her tenuous voice whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, grandson…”

   But before she could say any more, the wooden urn slipped from Albert’s one free hand, releasing the box into the roaring flames. Albert fell to the ground just as the great squid-like arms and his grandmother both evaporated into embers of the dissipating smoke.

   Laying on the ground a few feet from the dying camp fire, Albert looked about to see that none of his companions remained alive, and whispered the demonic entity‘s name, “Cthulhu! I’m sorry Gran ma I’ll dispose of them at the Lake like you wanted.”

FB-REMEMBER WHEN

  Of all the Hollywood moments on film or the idealistic wishful thinking of tradition, they would always have the reality of their cherished memories.
   He recalled how they first met. She was a beautiful young woman no more than 19 years old. She was walking from the back of the store to the front counter to greet the good looking young man who was obviously eagerly awaiting her to be his cashier  It was a metaphysics shop, loaded with all the usual fair of scented candles, wind chimes and tarot cards and the like. She wore a vale like purple dress, trying for that gypsy look with the oversized hooped ear rings, bangles too many on her left wrist and rings galore on both hands. A shy - look but don’t overly stare at me - glance at the young man, of whom she now let the other brunette clerk take over in her stead. The bait and switch worked for it made the eager customer want to strike up a conversation with the red head all the more. What was her name? That perfume? Her eyes, they - they were beautiful and he could not soak them in enough.
   Sally, how could he forget a name like that, never in a million years, nor when they first met over rice and baked beans in the service line of his church’s Fellowship Hall.  How he accidentally bumped into her, ruining her Easter dress with his weak red punch. Yet after the cleanup she had hardly remembered it at all because of how they had gotten lost in conversation over their forgotten meal and each other’s eyes.
   Really, they had met on their way to a friend’s house. A group had come by a week after his eighteenth birthday; in a friend of a friend’s old beat up ford pickup to be exact. As he piled into the bed of the truck along with the other gaggle of smiling wind-blown faces, the young man locked in on her face. Brilliantly lit eyes, whose slightly round facial features were framed by an auburn Farah Fawcett’s hairstyle of the day. Softy pouting full lips that just beckon to be kissed; yeah that was his first thought of her grin in his direction. She turned out to be the younger sister of a newly made friend of a friend, but at that moment the young man just wanted to know her name. She seemed to have brushed him off into forgetfulness after that first glance, but for him it was love at first sight and he meant for her to know it too. The young man had taken over one of his dearest friend’s girlfriends, but this one here would be his the first time around. There was just something undeniably fascinating about her eyes, and that smile -- he could not get out of his mind. How could he have ever guessed that they would have gotten married and it would last over forty wondrous years.

   Her father had offered him a Cuban cigar in the hospital’s waiting room, and as a gift to him for the arrival of the new granddaughter, a fancy promotion as head salesman at his radio station.
   Sally never knew her father because he had never been in her life, but her mother and the rest of her extended family of uncles and aunts were there eagerly awaiting the birth of her first child, with balloons and presents to boot.
  Actually, it had only been her young nineteen year old husband and just barely a handful to family that joyously greeted their red faced-pointed ear daughter into the world in that small town’s hospital. Taking their new bundle of love home for the first time was scary as hell for him, yet seeing the sheer delight in his young wife’s eyes and those full smiling lips made all the anxiety of how to deal with it all just melt away.  Never was there ever a happier day for the two of them as that day when they began their lives so many years ago.

   Then again there was the time he had surprised her with a new puppy to cheer her up from having lost her job as a secretary.
   Sally had never worked outside the home before, well other than being a nursery worker in the local church they attended, but seeing her receive that singing telegram lit up her face more than he had ever seen.
   Seriously, even though he had intended to a thousand times over he had never had flowers delivered to her at home.  But seeing her glow at their daughter’s wedding rivaled that of her birth, and the joy with which she radiated.

 
   The old man heard an ambulance round the bend entering the apartment complex’s maze of parking lots.  Of all the regrets he had in not making her life better was that of losing her and not being able to have her longer in his life.  As he slowly rose off the park bench, and unhurriedly began walking home, he felt content beyond fulfilled - though a little tired.  The day was quiet as if someone had turned off all the sound in the world but crying.
   Presently, standing outside the faded wood banister of their patio, the old man watched as the coroner loaded the covered body into his station wagon from the sidewalk he himself had paced a thousand times over on his way to work.
   The crying that came from beyond the opened door of his own apartment was a deep sobbing gasp.  A horrific mournful weeping no man wishes to ever hear from his wife.  How would she make it on her own now that he had passed away?  He smiled at seeing his daughter and her family gathered about, tough as it was, she would be alright.

FB-UNDER THE SUN

   One day while I was out walking my dog near our Lake Cliff Apartments I saw a huge flock of birds flying over the tree tops of the nearby woods. It reminded me of smoke, which in turn reminded me of Old Joe Henderson.

    Joe Henderson was a lawyer who got drafted at the end of the Vietnam conflict and served during the first Gulf War. He retired a major in the Army, an Infantry man all the way. Had a beautiful wife name Louise Emily, and lived in the Lake Cliff Apartments near Lewisville. Two years ago yesterday, she had been raped and killed. A month ago Joe said his two grand sons and their uncle had perished is a house fire. Later they found out it was due to an arson, sad life.
I never knew old Joe personally nor the details of his life, other than the brief account he share as I delivered cans to him as he rummaged through my apartment’s dumpster. Since his wife had died Joe had been homeless.
    Sad to say I only thought of Joe this morning. ’Cause watching the Dallas news they showed the picture of a street man some construction worker discovered dead in one of their portable potties. Crazy how nothing is new under the sun, kind of make ya wonder how your own story will end, in the end.

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