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Sample Chapter: Path of the Warrior Shaman

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I know I posted what I thought to be the first book in this series of novellas a while ago, but I decided that it was more of a second piece to this character’s life, rather than the first. Instead, I decided to create a novella with the Warrior Shaman, Thas (I finally named him), going through all the training and education that is required of an individual going through this whole…process. Journey?

Anyway, here’s a select piece that I feel fits very well with the personality of Thas, and what it means to be a Warrior Shaman in his mind. This has been lightly proofread, but not edited yet, so there might be suck in there, or things that don’t make sense. Anyway, here’s the section:

Path of the Warrior, Book One

Copyright Will Truex – The Disfigured, 2013

————–|

…Thas felt the agony of Melias all at once.

His mind was flooded by negative thoughts, pain, anguish, confusion, terror. The voice came from beyond to guide him. He heard screaming, words, chaos. He felt panic, grief, and despair. You are feeling the pain of every living being on this planet. Grass blade to dragon, you know it all. This is the greatest burden you will bear. But it will give you great insight if you can weather it.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he wailed in the hopeless inky soup of consciousness. Visions accosted him, seeing firsthand the last moments of life through another’s eyes. He saw a lamb, and could hear it bleating. He felt its confusion and fear as it was being dragged away from its mother. Thas felt the submission of the lamb accepting that he cannot resist his captor.

Thas watched in horror from inside the lamb as her captor opened a nearby barn door. The buzzing of flies and the stink of stale wool and fresh blood was overwhelming. The lamb looked around at her surroundings, seeing a pile of heads. Lamb heads. She knew some of the faces, recognized some of the smells. Some of them where her brothers and sisters. More confusion, as her captor left. Terror refreshed as she approached the heads, smelling death. When she turned around, the farmer had a knife in his hand.

He approached and she bleated furiously, not understanding why he didn’t understand her. She kept wanting to know what was going on. Where her mother was. What was wrong with her brothers and sisters. Begging to know. The farmer grabbed her by the mouth to silence her tiny bleats. She tried to resist him, but he was too strong.

Pain, fresh terror, warmth as the blade entered her neck. He tossed her to the side, and she felt all her blood pour over her chest and legs. The last thing she saw was the farmer’s boot crushing her eye, and then felt pain as he held her down. There was one more sharp bite of pain, one more panicked cry, and then she was gone.

Thas returned to the Catacombs, but he could still feel the twisted pain of Melias channeling through him. The spirits whirled around him, screaming in fury.  Melias is sick, Thas! She needs help! WE. ARE HER PROTECTORS. Another vision approached.

He was a stray dog this time, being beaten by children in the street. Once again, terror, confusion, pain. He felt their angry little feet pelt his frail body, bruising his flesh and cracking his bones. The stray fell to the ground, crying miserably. It was all he could think to do. He kept wanting mercy, he kept wanting to know why he was being hurt, he didn’t understand.

When the children were finished, the stray ran off and hid under a building’s porch. Thas knew the poor dog’s fate was sealed, though. He could feel a terrible infection rising from his guts, moving into his lungs.

WE. ARE. HER. PROTECTORS.

THAS!

“Yes!” He screamed, consumed in righteous anger and unfathomable pain.

WILL YOU PROTECT HER?

“YES!” he screamed, and stood up. He drank in the sorrow of Melias, felt it, understood it, and felt a purpose well and take shape within him. “I will eradicate the darkness from this planet. I will stand up for the weak, I will grant mercy to the injured, AND I WILL PUNISH EVIL WHEREVER IT MAY HIDE!”

“Welcome Thas! Welcome!” In an instant, the vision and pain stopped, but Thas could still feel it in his heart. “Thas. You are strong enough to bare the pain of this world and still fight a losing fight. You will stand for Melias, stand for her people, plants, and animals. You will be her champion, like so many before you.”

“I am honored. And eager.”

“All beings have a connection to Melias because we are all born from her and the heavens beyond. We have lost our physical forms, but endure on to guide men and women like you. We opened your link with Melias to its full extent, not leaving anything out. You will learn how to control this link, how to use it, how to seek wisdom from it.”

“From that? I could barely understand…” Thas could feel the heat of tears in his eyes.

“No, Thas. There is so much more…than darkness.”

Thas felt his link to Melias open once more, and he braced himself for the onslaught. But instead, the sheer beauty of Melias, all of its happiness, love, peace. The spirits danced around his head this time, their light not so bright, their sounds melodious and metallic- like tiny wind chimes. He was bathed in pearlescent light.

He could feel it all, and was grinned with anticipation when he felt a vision coming toward him. He looked through the eyes of a father seeing his newborn son for the first time, and felt his joy, love, and pride. Thas smelled the afterbirth of the child, fresh but well hidden, like a musky secret. He watched as the father cleared blood and mucus from the child’s lips and nose, and felt his heart skip a beat when the boy shrieked his first protest.

He felt the simple joy of a beggar finding a loaf of bread discarded behind a bakery. The happiness and relief of finding something to eat washed over him. His worries melted- today he was fed. He watched as the beggar sat down on a ragged blanket and slowly ate his prize. He shared it with a few birds that came to join him. Thas felt the quiet, subtle happiness as the old man smiled, watching the little chubby birds peck his crumbs.

He felt the warmth and love of his own mother and father again, after they had been dead for so many years. It felt like hope.

Nothing ever ends completely, Thas. We are all connected, connected by Melias, connected by the very soul that fuels our bodies. We show you why you must fight. Now, we will show you what you’re really fighting for. We are all brothers and sisters on this side, Thas.

Thas felt his connection wane. He felt purified from the sheer…goodness that was within Melias. He knew he had to protect it. He knew he must protect it. The spirits broke their link around his head and returned to where he first saw them. Thas wanted to speak, but knew he didn’t need to. They faded back into the darkness, and he emerged from the Catacombs. It was dark. Was it still the same day?

Thas could feel a terrible rage build within him, a need to lash out at evil and darkness, injustice and misery. He whispered, “Melias is angry. She’s angry and tired and sick, and I will make her well again.” The images of the lamb still haunted him. He could still feel her, out there, her little life adrift. But in the same instant, he felt the love of his parents wash over him. After a mere twenty years of life, Thas finally knew what it meant to be human.

As much as the experience had drained him, Thas sighed with relief and felt a new drive in his life. He felt happiness and purpose, true purpose. He looked up through the pine trees and studied the thin rays of light that pierced the high canopy. He found purpose.

Thas returned to Dra, a changed man. Was he even a man anymore? What was he? Dra did not speak as Thas dressed himself. “You made it.”

“I did.”

“What do you think?”

Thas didn’t answer reflexively. He stopped what he was doing, and took a breath to think. “My world is gone. I’ve been flung into an entirely different realm, and I can’t believe that I came out on the other side. That’s what I think.”

“What shall you do?”

“Continue.”

“When will you start?”

“Now.”

“Tomorrow. Tonight, we camp here. By the catacombs. I will lead you to the Sacred Swamp tomorrow. You will become something different, Thas. Something completely unique. There is much to tell you, much to do. Much to experience.”

“I am ready.”

“I can see that.”

Dra fell asleep almost immediately when they finally bedded down for the night, but Thas was still dozed. He peered up at the pines and flirted glances with the grinning moon, full and bright. Silvery blue light touched the forest like a veil of glass. His lids closed once, and then shut until morning.

Dra woke him up with a gentle nudge form his boot. “Thas, today we go to the Sacred Swamp. That is where you will finish your journey, and become a Warrior Shaman in title. Then, I’ll teach you what it means to become a Warrior Shaman in heart.” Dra walked away to smother the campfire. There was no food cooking, no water boiling. Thas remained silent, wondering if this was part of his test.

He rose, and begun dressing himself in his burlap rags. “No,” Dra said, and tossed him a strange medallion slightly smaller than the size of his palm. It bore no symbol, and was well worn. It appeared to be made of brass, but it felt heavier than that. Lead? He could feel a heartbeat of magic coursing through it and passing into his arm. There was more than what met the eye here.

“Place that  below your chin, right in the center of your breastbone.” Thas wanted to ask why, but figured it wouldn’t be a smart idea. As soon as it touched his chest, a dark gas poured out from under it. A trap?

“What did you do?” Thas said.

“Silence.”

Soon, he realized that it wasn’t gas at all, but clouds. Clouds. He had a cloud forming around him. More specifically, a thunderhead. When it reached his genitals, he worried about his balls being cooked off by a stray spark of lightening.

When it was finally complete, he was in a cloak, shirt, pants, and boots, all made of…cloud. A clap of soft thunder and his clothes became real (at least they looked that way), taking on a feel of fabric. They were of dark greens, browns, and tans. The cloak, however, was bound by the medallion on his chest. It flowed over his shoulders and around his head, creating a hood.

When it all finally settled, he watched in amazement as the cloak churned and flashed silent lightening underneath the cloud cover. It was constantly shifting, always moving, just like the sky, but it was merely a cloud stretched into a cloak and then fitted on some poor bastard that had no idea what was in store for him. When it calmed down, the cloak remained a dark grey overcast, its default color.

“That is a Storm Mantle. Ever Warrior Shaman has one. It will be the only pair of clothes you will ever need.”

“It can make clothing for me?”

 

OH! And I am going to start posting flash fiction on here that star my characters. It’ll give you a better idea of their personalities and how they interact with people, and the world around them. Let me know what you think- I want to make this the best work I can possibly do. Remember, please be constructive. Just saying, “YOU SUCK” won’t allow me to improve my work, and I’ll cry for like…three hours.

Revised: Path of the Wizard Sample Chapter

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Okay, here is the new and improved Path of the Wizard sample chapter. I edited it, proofread it (sorta), and made  the story less pokey. I’m be proud of this piece, because I actually gave a shit when I wrote it. Hope you like it.

(Thanks for the kind words, Godtisx. You helped me find some confidence that I had recently lost)

All ideas and concepts and all that other shit by Will Truex — The Disfigured, 2013

Tremors. Not an earthquake, tremors. A thin line of dust fell from the wizard’s ceiling, waking him from his nap and fouling his temper. “What the hell is this?” He said, looking up at the offensive crevasse. More tremors. At first, he thought he was simply feeling the quaking in a dream, but he was awake, awake and certain that something was wrong.

As if on cue, screaming pealed through the college and the alarm bell started to vibrate the very walls. More tremors, more dust. He snorted and tripped over his long cotton nightshirt. “Godammit!” He said, struggling to rise to his feet. “Godamn old bones, come on Melchas, get your ass up.” Finally vertical, he stretched his back and rolled his head from side to side. Again, tremors. They were becoming stronger, and the pace was even. Footsteps? He thought. Giants? He rubbed his bruised chin through his wiry, graying beard. He smelled his fingers afterwards, enjoying the odor of his skin and hair.

Wizards…are eccentric.

He tied his hair back into a long ponytail, and donned his robes. They were light black, almost a charcoal, with silver hemming and strange designs woven into the very fabric. He put on his hat, fixed its wide brim, and grabbed his staff.

Students, faculty, even the janitors were running through the halls, screaming in terror. Melchas grabbed a student he recognized from one of the classes he taught. She was wide-eyed with panic and gripped with fear. “What’s going on girl? Focus!” His tone was firm, but soothing. She locked eyes with him and broke free without saying a word. Alright then…guess I’ll figure it out on my own. The cold stone stuck to his bare feet, which he rarely washed. He hung them over the bed to prevent the staining of his sheets, and wore an extra long robe to hide them from view. Not because he was ashamed of them, but rather…he didn’t want people eyeballing his toenails.

Wizards…are eccentric.

He walked calmly amongst the rabble, gently pushing people out of the way. What could be causing this commotion? Truly, the College of Demonic Arts is located next to the Abyssal Maw, a black pit torn open during the dark civil war that created the Scar of Shame and divided this continent into north and south regions. What could possibly shake an entire college filled with talented Spellslingers and guards?

After a long walk that he regretted, he made it to the courtyard of the college. Looking at the battlements, he saw numerous archers nock and release arrow after arrow from their long bows. The commander screamed order after order, and the catapults were being prepared a few feet away from where Melchas stood.

Melchas floated up to the top of the battlements next to the commander, which didn’t notice him at first. “Uh, commander?”

“Huh? What is it- oh Professor Melchas, I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that my friend. What has the college in such a frenzy?”

“That.” The commander grabbed Melchas’ shoulder and turned him towards the eastern forest. The massive bald head of a rampaging giant drew closer and closer. Two more followed the one in the lead. One thing was obvious- their faces were twisted with blind anger and grim joy. They were well over two hundred feet tall.  “I don’t see anything. I left my glasses in my chamber.”

“Oh, for God’s sake you old bastard, look!” The commander handed Melchas a spyglass.

“Fuck me,” he said, “there are Godamn giants out there!” The commander rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that’s why we’re scared!”

“Scared? You have arrows, catapults, and seven master wizards here including myself, why are you scared?”

“Magical theory and fireballs won’t save us from that, Professor!” The commander pointed towards the giants once more. When he turned to face Melchas again, the wizard was gone. The smell of his odd cologne remained. When the commander looked around, he saw Melchas outside of the college’s drawbridge, walking slowly towards the giants.

“Are you insane?!” he screamed down. “They’ll eat you alive!”

Melchas turned his lips into a frown, and furrowed his brow. He lifted his hand and flapped it vigorously, dismissing the obviously concerned commander’s fear.  It wasn’t long until the archers stopped, and the whole college was silent, watching Melchas from the safety of the massive stone walls.

Trees snapped and cracked, leaves, limbs, and other forest debris flew high into the air, a strange wake in the destruction the giants left behind them. The two in the rear looked dull- but they were bulkier than the one in the lead. The brains, and the brawn. Melchas thought. He remembered the leader’s bald head and changed his thought with a snicker. More like a cock and two shriveled balls. The giants breached the tree line, and Melchas flew with incredible speed towards the bald leader, stopping the beast cold in its tracks. Perplexed, the giant stared at the wizard, unable to process why a human was flying without wings. Melchas spoke to the leader slowly.

“Buddy. Listen. What are you doing? What’s going on?”

The giant looked behind his shoulder at his comrades, and then cast a wary eye back to Melchas. “You…you don’t plan on destroying the college over there, do you? A lot of people live there, you’re not gonna kill em’ all, right?”

The giant stared at Melchas with an expression of anger and awe. Melchas had gotten used to seeing this on people’s faces when he spoke to them. A massive bead of sweat rolled from the giant’s brow down to the bridge of his nose. It fell to the ground, making an audible slap as the bone white sand below accepted the sudden moisture with greed. The giant gritted his teeth in a snarl. “Now, now, now, easy my friend. There is no need-“ the giant grabbed Melchas. The sudden force hurt his back and ruined his pleasant mood.

“I’m guessing, boy, that you understand English?” The giant grinned, flashing massive, yellow teeth. The head and leg of some poor cow was wedged in-between his two front teeth, crammed up against the gum line. “But you can’t speak it?” Another nod in confirmation. “Okay, you speak Giant, yes?” The beast squeezed Melchas a little bit. He felt a rib crack and his wrist break. He remained even and calm, not showing the agony. “Then listen to this.” Melchas begun speaking to the beast in a perfect stream of fluent Giantspeak, “Put me the fuck down maggot or I’ll break your Godamn legs and choke your friends back there with your fucking intestines.”

All three giants let loose thunderous bellows of laughter. The leader looked at Melchas and struggled a phrase in broken English- “Time you die!” And started to tighten his grip. Melchas shot his hands out and snapped the giant’s finger’s back.  The beast roared in pain as the wizard floated to the ground. Enraged, the two other giants rushed forward, screaming with their clubs high in the air. Melchas turned his palms up, and then snapped them forward, his fingers outstretched towards their targets. Two translucent spheres flew from his hands with incredible speed, blowing back his sleeves and pushed his beard to one side.

The smashed into the top of the clubs, ripping them from their owners hands and back into the forest. While confused, Melchas launched two more projectiles, aiming at a knee each of the assaulting giants. Both joints broke backwards with a loud pop, and the two giants fell (thankfully away from the college), howling in pain. The leader, now infuriated, roared and charged Melchas, aiming to trample him underfoot.

In a split second, Melchas crossed his hands in front of him, one palm in, on out, and then extended his limbs towards the giant’s face. Two massive columns of twisting white fire roared forth from the vacant space in-between his two outstretched hands, a hose of flame, burning the giant’s face. When the spell was finished, the giant stood, still in shock, still not dead, with his skin charred down to the skull. The beast started to fall forward towards the college which would have crushed almost half of the structure under its incredible weight.

Seeing this, Melchas threw a fist at the beast, launching a massive translucent sphere which smashed into the giant’s chest, and flung him like a rag doll several hundred feet backwards. A massive plume of sand exploded off in the distance, indicating where the carcass landed.

The two wounded giants looked up in fear of Melchas as he hovered above them. He said, very clearly in Giant, “Never. Ever. Come back here. Or I’ll harvest your organs for potions. Now go die somewhere else. Got it?” The beasts blubbered in agreement and hobbled off back towards the forest. Melchas watched them disappear amongst the titanic trees. Still floating, he turned back towards the college. He cast a healing spell on himself, and then took a bow.

Everyone celebrated his name.

 

 

WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Sample Chapter: Path of the Wizard

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You know this dance by now. Here’s a sample chapter from another novella. Remember, all these sample chapters are rough drafts. They haven’t even been proofread yet.

All ideas and concepts and all that other shit by Will Truex — The Disfigured, 2013

 

“Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The ground. It’s rumbling. Moving beneath our feet.” He gathered his robes and lifted them, looking at his bare and dirty feet. Pebbles had begun to move. “See? See? Look Ronah!”

Ronah looked below her, her robes shorter than her brother’s. Sure enough, the pebbles were starting to move, and the tremors started to become more intense. A thunderclap of footsteps approached from the west, and a train of birds flew without direction away from the disturbance.  The distinct sound of snapping wood got louder and louder.

“A giant?” Ronah said.

“A giant.” Her brother said.

“Is it headed towards Melgor?” Ronah asked.

“No, no. No. It’s headed towards the college. Look.”

A colossal humanoid crashed through the forest, causing the two siblings to run for cover. It carried a massive spine from an unknown creature as its club with thick bands of iron bent and jammed amongst the vertebrae, probably scavenged from the hull of a galleon. It reeked of body odor and dirt, its skin greasy with sweat and grime. It wore only a loincloth.

This was no ordinary giant.

Well over the canopy of the forest, the beast’s face could only be seen from the underside. The siblings watched in absolute horror as its loathsome nostrils flared, sniffing the air. It wasn’t long before they got a good look at the abomination’s face as it snapped its eyes to their hiding spot. The giant’s face was twisted in feverish anger, its lips curled back revealing two rows of tiny, blunt teeth in the front. Its eyes widened, the lenses glowing as the light shifted.

The siblings clutched at one another, paralyzed with fear. The giant new they were there it seemed, but couldn’t pinpoint where. A massive bead of sweat rolled off its nose, crashing to the forest floor. A plume of dust and pine needles rose before them not ten feet away.

“Geryl, we have to distract it.” Ronah whispered.

“How?” Geryl returned. “Be quiet.”

The giant crushed them with his hand. It ground their corpses into the dust, and then licked the gore clean from its palm. It stood erect once more, peering over the canopy, and saw the College of Demonic Studies in the distance. The giant screamed in fury and ran full speed at the structure.

The college was thrown into panic when the lookouts saw the giant coming. All except one. He crossed the courtyard deliberately, gently pushing the panicking students and faculty to the side. He step out from the main gate just as it closed, and started to walk towards the giant’s warpath.

His robes were black with silver hemming, the garb of a master. His face was stoic before such violence, and a hot desert breeze pushed sand into his graying beard. His eyes hid beneath his brow, the brim of his hat protecting his eyes from the glare off the bone white sand. He stopped moving about a hundred feet from the college’s front gate. He dropped his walking stick, and rolled his sleeves up.

It was a struggle to keep his footing as beast charged forward, its terrible club held high, its roar like demonic thunder. He winced at the sheer volume of it, but stood his ground. The wizard’s right hand balanced a turbulent sphere of energy that hummed and churned with unbelievable power. He cast his hand out, and a sphere flew from his hand faster than an arrow, aimed right for the creature’s right kneecap.

It hit home, making the beast trip and fall. The wizard did nothing, standing there. The chaos and screaming from the college had fallen silent. They were all watching this wizard fight the raw fury of nature, hand to hand- mind to mind.

The giant rose with alarming speed, and changed his target. It roared at the wizard, an object of its pain and fury. It swung its club downward upon the wizard. It lifted the club to see if his target was dead, but there was nothing in the massive impact crater his swing had created. The wizard reappeared on the beast’s left flank, immediately drawing its attention  and provoking another swing. The wizard pushed his palms out, clenching his teeth. A massive pillar of sand rose and flew forward like a cannonball, aimed directly for the giant’s fist clutching the club. It’s hand flew backwards with the force of the strike, the club flying backwards and down into the Abyssal Maw.

Now infuriated, the giant charged the wizard with its fists clenched, its eyes wide and vacant, its mouth foaming. The wizard lifted his hands into the air and ignited two double helix shaped pillars of fire. He clenched his fists, all the while the giant still getting closer, and smashed them together. The shockwave knocked the giant off balance, and when it regained its footing, the wizard launched a twisting column of searing hot fire from the middle of his outstretched arms. The smashed into the giant’s face, making it howl in agony and stumble away from the flames.

When it pulled his hands from its face, a charred skull grinned back at the wizard; the giant’s face had been completely burned off. It started to advance, and then collapsed face first into the sand. It wasn’t long before it stopped breathing.

The wizard pulled his sleeves back down and picked up his walking stick. “Fuck you, cocksucker.” He said, and walked back to the college.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Monk

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Just got struck with inspiration and wrote the intro for one of my novellas. Tell me what you think:

 

99 Cent Novellas: Path of the Monk, Book One

All ideas and concepts by The Disfigured, 2013

Sunshine was expected in these parts, and it was beautiful to behold when filtered through the gnarled branches of the mangroves nearby. He smiled thinking about them, holding his groceries in a cloth bag. He shook his head as a small insect buzzed in front of him, smiling as he watched it dart off. The sunlight caught its wings- a flash of a dagger in a well lit room.

He had walked this trail many times before. It was easy to navigate, free of bandits, and civilized enough to deter some of the more…unsavory creatures located in Melias. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was a pleasant walk through a lightly wooded path in the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere, however, had residents. And they had been watching him for a little over a half an hour now. Five men, armed to the teeth, stalked their prey methodically. They intended to rob him of his goods, his money, his dignity, and maybe his life. The men looked at each other, and then to their leader. He smiled and shook his head “no”. They walked behind him, careful to mask their approach.

Flower petals jerked with the haphazard force of the wind, which also carried with it the scent of pond water and wild flowers. His soul finally felt like it had a place to rest. To call home. He turned to the south as the wind picked up again, hoping that he could smell the mixture of seawater and mangrove tea. He knew that the coast was close, but he could not smell its salt.

One of the five men broke off from the group and moved ahead of them all, waiting in ambush. The remaining four stayed behind their target, watching. He was completely oblivious- this would be the easiest money they’ve made in a long time.

The scout made his move, and stepped in front of their target. “Hold it monk,” the bandit said. “got a question for you.”

“How do you know I’m a monk?”

The thug snorted. “Ha! Those faggot robes? That shitty crew cut? The vacant expression of moronic bliss? You’re a fuckin’ monk alright.”

“I want no violence.” The monk backed away, only to be stopped by the remainder of the gang.

“Too bad sweetie.” One bandit said. His nose was massive and scarred; his eyes cruel and his skin unclean. He pulled a twisted dagger from his belt, and flashed a single silver tooth. It wasn’t long before they were upon him.

*             *             *

                It also wasn’t long before the monk returned home to Cheldas, dozens of miles away from the nearest town, or city. This…was not something he was sad about. Townsfolk greeted him as he returned, showering him with gifts that he did not accept, and compliments which he thanked them for. He pulled a large loaf of bread from his bag and gave it to a few children playing in a puddle. Cheldas was a poor community, and this food would not go to waste. They looked at him, shy and smiling. He gave them a steely glance trying hard not to crack a smile. Suddenly, he lifted his arms up and yelled ‘BOO’!

The children squealed in delight as they scattered and ran back to their homes. Once more, the monk found himself smiling. He looked into his grocery bag and noticed three teeth resting in a patch of blood that had saturated the bottom of the bag. One was silver. “I think I’ll pawn you.” He said to the tooth, and hid it in his robes.

Today was going to be a good, good day.

 

Ah, I love misdirection. Good? Bad? Indifferent? Lemmie know.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Cleric

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Got inspired over the weekend to create a new character for my 99 cent novellas. This guy is a Cleric- a holy priest that wields might and magic. Take a look:

99 Cent Novellas: Path of the Cleric, Book One

All ideas and concepts by The Disfigured, 2013

“’Sadness and hate blanket much of our world. There are souls wandering the planet, trapped between blood and spirit. Some are good. Victims of unfortunate circumstances, terrible incidents, and sometimes? A grisly demise. Some are evil. Twisted, terrible monstrous shades that barely can still be called…earthly.’”

“’Necromancy is a magical art that taps into the pain and agony of the dead, summoning such spirits and the emotions they carry with them in order to help, defend, and guide each and every Necromancer here. Remember this, acolytes. The dead that we call forth for our aid are doing us a favor. They are not our slaves. And in exchange for helping us, it is our duty to guard the land of the dead, and insure that each and every noble soul has an opportunity to find rest, and face the judgment of their god. We are the Necromancers from the Order of Glendoul, and we. Are the Keepers of the Dead.’”

The Cleric sat at his kitchen table, staring intently over a wooden goblet filled with warm tea. His armor exchanged for more relaxed outfit of robes, his mace resting next to him on the table, his hand near its grip. There was much to be done in Melias. Many wrongs to be righted, many dark deeds unpunished, but for now? His morning cup of tea was getting cold, and his disposition wasn’t fairing any better.

He missed the Temple. The jungle, and its people. But the need to destroy evil burned inside him. He was not a Paladin. No, he was  Cleric, a priest trained in both combat and the divine arts. He did not quest for righteousness with blind zeal. He watched both sides of the line, and walked the middle, clad in steel and silken robe.

This Cleric was religious like most. But he was also different. Wisdom lurked behind his eyes, as well as a sense of awareness that kept his mind and soul open to the churning cauldron of emotion that was Melias. He did not waste time with ritual, ceremonies, or sermons. He travelled to places of great evil and darkness and sought only to bring light and to scatter the demons lurking in the black.

But today was different. He could feel turmoil in the heart of Melias. He could hear the miserable wailing of lost spirits calling out incoherent and tortured gibberish. Quickly, he refocused his mind and shut the trap door where he tiptoed through the land of the dead. The Order of Glendoul were making the Golem once more. He was certain of it, and he knew that he must prepare quickly, or Melias could fall into a time of great darkness.

Of course it’s a first draft, but I’d love some feedback.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Warrior Shaman

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Just finished the intro to what is soon to be my newest novella: The Path of the Warrior Shaman: Book One. Take a look:

PATH OF THE WARRIOR SHAMAN: IDEAS, WRITINGS, AND CONCEPTS BY THE DISFIGURED, 2013

Clouds conspired to block the sun; its beams choked by the umbranous thunderheads. The Warrior Shaman stood against the dark edges of those thunderheads, watching the lightening flash within them. A roar of thunder made his pulse quicken, the blood in his veins frothing as his heart slammed into his sternum. Lightening struck nearby. He could feel its heat, but he did not shield himself from it. The rain came soon thereafter, and he accepted it, never looking for shelter.

The cliff he stood on overlooked a large portion of Galivec, Jol’Tah Hak was a merely a point of grey on the horizon. Soon, the shadows flooded the valley, and he was alone with the coming storm. He lowered his head and allowed a grimace to darken his brow and lips, his dark brown beard beading the rainfall and running rivulets down the middle of his chest. He was distant now, barely feely the icy cold water.

Thousands of soldiers were in the valley below him, looking up, waiting for his signal as their enemies approached. The storm above grew more violent. Massive arcs of searing hot lightening smashed into the ground, extending its branches, making his allies cower below him in the valley. The sky was completely overcast, a shade of steely grey, and pitch black where the clouds rumbled in fury.

The Warrior Shaman stood silently, his mind focusing on the storm. His sword at his right hand, his axe at the left, he drew them both and let them stand at attention near his hips. Water dripped off the weapons, but soaked into the wooden handle of his axe. He could feel its heartbeat thud into his bones, its anger mounting as the storm grew more violent above.

Soldiers, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, approached from the other side of the valley, their voices almost drowning out the thunder. Still the sky grew darker, casting the entire land into a false night. Torches and a few patches of haphazard sun illuminated the valley like an ethereal leopard’s pelt. The Warrior Shaman’s eyes glowed a dark orange, tiny pinpoints in the dark, but piercing and terrible. As the light changed on his face, the strange glow would flicker on and off, disappearing completely against the bright white strobe of lightening.

Now the battlefield was bloated with murder as the two armies stood against one another. A mere one hundred yards were all that separated the two opposing factions, one side clad in yellow, red and white, the other dark green and gold. The Warrior Shaman’s eyes widened, his teeth clenching, his breathing quick. He raised his left arm into the sky, and screamed in pain and fury as a bolt of lightning struck the axe head, transferring the unbelievable energy into his hand. He could feel the power coursing through him, the rage of nature contained within his tiny, fragile body.

The thunder from this lightening strike was deafening, and an eerie hush fell over the battlefield. He opened his mouth, his voice shattering the silence, carried on the thunder. “You will all die today if you do not lay down your arms and return to the north from whence you came!” He screamed. The opposing army laughed at him, and charged forward, blades, axes, spears, polearms, bows, drawn and eager for killin’. With a scream, he cast an enormous bolt of lightening mere inches from the charging horde, stopping them in their tracks. Those closest to the impact where blind and soon afterwards deaf as the thunder issued forth from the point of impact, no doubt an effect of the Warrior Shaman’s magic.  They looked up at him, and one solider stepped forward, recognizing the insidious dark orange glow of the shaman’s eyes.

He ran back into the ranks to find the general, who was safely ensconced behind a wall of archers and infantry. He screamed, “we must surrender! We must surrender!” and leapt upon an officer’s horse. Before the officer had a second to punish him for his audacity, the soldier said, “forgive me m’lord, but please, please take me to our General. I could save all of our lives today.” The terror in the boy’s eyes and the rabid urgency of his voice lead the officer on.

The crowd parted for the pair on the war horse, and soon, the soldier reached his General. He jumped down off the horse, and seized the General by his breastplate. “What are you?” He screamed, but the soldier interrupted him. “M’Lord, m’Lord! Please, do not strike me down! Listen to me! Their wizard possesses a storm cataract! We will die to a man if we fight today!”

“A storm cataract? I should gut you for such cowardly lies!”

“No sir, please! I saw glow of the demon in his eyes!”

“Blood orange?” The soldier had the General’s attention.

“None other.” The General looked at the soldier, and rode to the front line on his horse. He looked up to the Warrior Shaman, and yelled, “Wizard! My sources tell me you possess the storm cataract!”

“I do.” The Warrior Shaman replied. His voice was as thunder, and could be heard throughout the entire valley.

“Prove it. Prove it, and we will all lay down our arms! I’ve only seen one other spellslinger like you before, and I don’t believe-“

Three bolts of lightening screamed forth from the black ink that was the sky, striking the Warrior Shaman’s axe. He sheathed his weapons, and wrestled with the energy, his teeth clenched and his browed furrowed with fury as he tried to hold back the wrath of nature. His body ached with the immense power, and his nose begun to bleed. Now disarmed, he held his arms out in front of him, palms up, his fingers locked into claws as tiny arcs of electricity climbed in-between them. Soon, a huge arc leapt from one hand to the other, a peal of thunder in short pursuit afterwards. He threw his hands to the sky, screaming as he flung the lightening into the sky, piercing the thunderclouds.

After the thunder died down, the valley filled with a new sound- the sound of countless weapons being dropped to the ground.

The storm calmed only after they were all gone.

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