Donny's Delight

By any yardstick, Donny was a bad man. As head enforcer, he’d committed some atrocious acts which needed no embroidering or additions to inspire fear. His reputation was tough, image harsh, his visage locked in a permanent scowl. If there was a hell, he’d certainly be going there.

These depraved and deplorable deeds caused him no torment, nor loss of sleep. It wasn’t the case that he took a perverse pleasure in them, he looked at it as a job that needed doing. But Donny was tormented, as in the dark recesses of his mind he was a furry, and that was something he could never be.


 
For the 100 word challenge this week, the prompt was … in the dark recesses of my mind … which I tweaked since this was written in the third person as there's no way Donny would be admitting this. 

 I have a real good mate who is a furry, he just got back from Anthro Con where he competed in the dancing competition. He made it to the semi-finals before being eliminated - not bad for his first time! Next year I'm sure he'll place better... he's started working on his new routine already.

Edit:  A furry is someone who identifies strongly with an animal, often going to the extent of buying a fursuit (or a partial one) that can run into the thousands. Think of something along the lines of a sports mascot or children's TV character like Donald Duck. My dancing mate bought a partial suit - head, tail, arms and legs - and dropped about 4 grand on it. Some more information here but after that I'd probably not recommend digging too deeply as it can get NSFW fairly quickly.

Create a Coreling competition

Peter V. Brett has written two excellent books so far based in Thesa where demons rise from the centre of the world at the fall of night. There's a couple of short novellas based there too, and I'm eagerly awaiting the next book, coming out in February. Every couple of months Peat has a competition of some sort, and this time it was to create a coreling of your own. Most of his are elemental - wood demons, rock demons etc, and we were invited to draw, sculpt, write about or otherwise invent some of our own, up to three. I turned in three entries, and got third place, not too shabby at all!

Below follow my entries, I'll try to do some more writing soon, once we get tests and reports out of the way. I had the most fun with the last one, though writing it did require me to dig through his books a bit to find the correct spelling. 


Demon of Doubt
Demons of doubt have a toothed maw at the centre of a mass of writhing tentacular arms, covered in suckers and terminating in hooked claws. Small as a grain of sand, and fond of remaining insubstantial until they strike, the existence of these demons is unknown in the current age, though their predations continue unchecked. Unfortunately this means there is no specific ward that guards against them.

Drifting through the smallest chinks in ward nets they phase through the skull and feast upon tiny portions of the unwitting brains of their host. This affects the linkages between neurons and unduly influences the hosts' behaviour, causing them to be more likely to give in to their baser emotions – such as doubt, fear, envy, greed, recklessness, or hidebound thinking. It is probably for the best that humanity is unaware of this demon, lest they revel in shallow acts, and blame their actions upon these beasts.

*

Turned Coreling
Far from the lands of Thesa that have been described in the Demon Cycle so far, in one of the last outposts when man was master of machines and science still served him, a small bastion of humanity managed to create an apparatus of surprising power - it was able to convert a small number of demons each night. Though the batteries of this device have long since run down, and the circuitry fallen into disrepair, their numbers still slowly increase, as they are able to overpower and infect those demons that plague the world.

They can be easily identified by their enveloping aura of honey-coloured light, and their eyes are limned with a pleasant viridian tinge that also manifests upon their extremities when they move.

Turned demons can follow simple commands given in their new masters' tongue. Even if the Krasnian army fought their way to them it would do no good, as the language has been lost to the ravages of time and demons - none of that enclave are left alive.

When the sun rises, the enslaved demons do not return all the way to the core, but merely part way down the paths (much like Arlen did) and dwell there. The coreling princes know of their existence, but are unconcerned by them, and see no great need to snuff them out as yet, as that part of the world is devoid of human life.

*

Bone Alagai
May Everam's light always shine upon thee. The Dama will say that the tale within this manuscript is heresy, yet still must it be told, for it is true - those of the white have defiled the Will of Everam by dismissing it out of hand.

In 142 AR our people entered a resurgence of matters spiritual.  New interpretations of previously obscure scripture flowed down to even the lowliest of the khaffit. Eager to further expand our knowledge and understanding, the Andrah formed in utmost secrecy a cadre of Dama'ting well versed in prophesy and Dama that excelled as distinguished scholars of the Evejah with instructions to prepare by any means necessary prognostications of the future - whether they be dire or jubilant.

All of their auguries so far have been accurate, though you will find no other mention of them, they have been eradicated from our peoples’ histories, as have their names. That is due to their final act of soothsaying, which I am sure will be no less accurate, painful though it is.

Turning their thoughts and powers upon that most honourable edifice, the Jewel of Krasia, last resting place of the noble and brave, paean to Everam's glory and might - I speak of none other than Sharik Hora. Those luminaries from long ago ascertained that in the closing stages of alagai’sharak Fort Krasia would be overrun. Runes undone, the Andrah’s palace torn asunder and Nie's children free to despoil the fairest city of all. The taint and scourge of the darklings rendered our defenses useless. Just as the unending desert sands calls to sand demons, and the restless wind summons the winged foe, so too did the concentration of osseous relics summon a type of coreling never before seen - the Bone Alagai.

A blasphemous melding of the skeletons of those who have gone on to Everam's paradise, with thigh bones sprouting from eye sockets, ribs fusing into fingers and other monstrosities too foul to speak of,  the creatures made a mockery of those dal’Sharum who gave their life in alagai’sharak.

Rather than hiding the news of this hideous desecration, these visionaries brought their proof before the Andrah, hoping against hope that given warning we would be able to avert such a course. At first, the Andrah would not accept such an unpalatable message, and threw them out in fury. They did not cease their petitions, and in time, his anger appeared to give way to their entreaties. The Andrah sent word that he would hear them out again, so long as they brought all their evidence and spoke of it to no other.

That most wise of Damaji, Rashid Asu Goram am’Harzuk had in secret left an encoded copy of all documents with his most favoured jiwa, to be passed on to his son when he had completed hannu pash and emerged as a Dama. It is from these that I have gleaned the truth, passed down through the generations, for the Andrah had not recanted in his anger, and still waxed wrothful. When all his seers were assembled and the documents accounted for he accused them of plotting sedition and that their predictions were no more than couzi fueled lies – slander and an abomination of the Everjah, and put their scrolls to the torch.

He then had their tongues ripped out, later to be thrown thrown to fire demons. A rabble of the most miserable and pitiful khaffit was gathered, given lumps of wood and instructed to bludgeon the worthy prophets to death, so that they would suffer an ignominious demise. Then they were bound to stakes on the ramparts of Fort Krasia with their own entrails, so that when the wind demons carried them off that night their souls would be dismembered, screaming wordlessly for eternity beyond Everam's sight in Nie’s darkness.

You will claim that you have never heard of the great Rashid Asu Goram am’Harzuk. This is so, as the Andrah had the names of each oracle and sibyl struck from the record, never to be spoken again, on pain of sharing their fate. The knowledge of them and their “crime” faded from memory, yet their words be true – ‘ware the Bone Alagai.

Small Stones

I forget how I stumbled upon small stones - but I loved the idea of them. Its meant to be a short, descriptive piece where you're paying full attention to something, and capture it perfectly. A nice idea making you take notice of what is around you and  simple wonders, convenient as its only a titchy piece of text, and good practice for me as I tend to comma splice myself into long, rambling sentences... like this one. A lot of the ones I’ve read tend to be visual, which makes sense as it takes a lot less effort for something to catch your eye than your other senses, but I’m going to make an effort to cover everything. In the demo the instigator of this idea had, some of the steps said about trying a different sense and I’d already had a crack at them.  

I waited till our daughter arrived before I made my first one, thinking it only right she should take the premier position. Here’s my list so far, I might throw them up every month or so I reckon.  They’re not poems though there are a few haiku and a couple of the sexy new (to me) elfje - instructions for which you can find here

*
Our baby has arrived; a hiccuping bundle of happiness!


*
Lego with our young nephew.
Practicing English, burgeoning imagination.
For me, childhood revisited

*
Humid
Dripping sweat
Temperature rising oppressively.
Susurration of the aircon:
Oasis

*
With blanket, hot
Without - too cold
Top sheets a rarity over here
A negligible difference, yet I pine for home

*
The rattle of the neighbours squeaky gate
Tho's peaceful dreaming breaths make me smile
Then the Bronx cheer of Madeline filling her nappy makes me laugh

*
Back at work after holidays
Yellow leaves, swept into knee high piles
A splash of colour, soon to be removed

*
Simple Pleasures
Hardly gourmand fare
Soggy Ramen, the opposite of al dente
A burnt lip slurping them up
But still so appealing
Yum!

*
The insistent whine and hiss
As the pump summons the milk
Sounds like marching mecha

*
Banana palm in the gloaming
Surrounded by rusted corrugated iron
A splash of yellow & vibrant green
Amidst the rust and concrete

*
Simple sustenance: spud, quid, shrimp - scrumptious!

*
Tonal languages are complex
I called my father-in-law (bố) a potty (bô)
And asked my mother-in-law to please pass the vaginas (lồn) instead of the pork (lợn)
Gales of laughter ensued

*
Newborn
Madeline Mai
Our beloved baby
Sleeps, cries, eats, poos
Darling

*
My classes are always raucous
Shouting like happy magpies
Their cheerfulness is infectious
Even when exhausted
Smiling imps

*
Perched in the rocking chair
Our newborn in my lap
Cloudwatching
One sunlit, and half in shadow
Above hidden greenery in Hanoi's bustle

*
Fourth term is fun
Swimming with the kids
Splashing, throwing them
Holding their heads underwater
Laughter and silliness

*
Scarlet
Flame Trees
Riot of colour
A happy, cheerful sight
Synchronicity

*
Drab background shattered
Exploding like fireworks
Flame trees greet the sun

Treasure Hunter

Back at work, so paradoxically, time to write. I’ll leave this short, so I also have time to read (and comment) on other people’s entries for the current weekly 100 word challenge - to use the word ruby.

Treasure Hunter

He stood agog, staring at the mounds of treasure. Tomb robbing was easy! He hadn’t even needed to unsheathe the sword at his hip. He unwound the sack from his waist, wishing now that he had brought more, though now he knew the route, he was already planning his return.

Gems and gold flickered and gleamed in heaped piles from his torchlight. Thrusting his torch into the jaws of jewel encrusted statue, he fell to his knees and began shoveling treasure into his sack with both hands.

The eyes of the statue flashed ruby red, and his torch went out.

Picture from here. It's one of my favourite treasure images, I've loved it for years, maybe because of the tankard

The Collector

Since the baby arrived on the weekend, computer time has gone out the window. So this week I intended to fuse two entries into one. Chuck Wendig had one on Death, celebrating the upcoming release of his new novel, Blackbirds. I missed the deadline for this one as he moved it forward a day, but I am still in time for the 100 Word Challenge. This week we had to do a sonnet. At least 14 lines, 10 syllables per line if you wanted to (I ditched this rule) and with the rhythm a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g.

Picture pinched from here

The Collector

‘Midst the sycophants whispered chittering
The Collector utters a sibilant hiss
Bewtixt distain and lust He stares at the thing
“Thhiiiisss,” He hath pronounced, “I shall take thisssss”

His minions depart with alacrity
Unleashing famine, the pox, and clash of war
Destruction rained down on every city
Scourges blight and slay; life never naemore

Too slow for The Collector, so with tongue
He reaches out, a drop of saliva
Falls like acid rain and touches the sun
And Lo! Ra is slain! On Earth no survivor

Not even time for the last trump to sound
Nothing but corpses on the cold dark ground

And here’s a fluffy bunny to cheer you up after that, taken from here

*****
On a separate note, whatever was stopping me from writing comments on my own blog has magically disappeared, so I will go back through thanking people when I get a spare moment. I wasn’t snubbing you, it was some sort of technical glitch caused by the whims of the government, the stupid filtering software at school, and the idiotic ISP we have at home.

Bokeh on my visor

I’m generally a pretty upbeat bloke brimming with optimism and I definitely ascribe to the power of positive thinking. One day when I knew the traffic was going to be absolutely batshit insane due to rain and roadworks, I decided before jumping into the fray I’d focus on remaining in a good mood. So thinking happy thoughts and singing a soppy love song I set out, and managed to arrive 45 minutes later (instead of 10 with no traffic) still with a smile on my face. Similar road conditions on the way back and it worked for the return journey too, and while idling at a traffic light I started to think of how to put a positive spin on describing it. The obvious answer to me was poetry. While I don’t mind the occasional haiku, or a bit of ribald doggerel poetry never really did it for me.  

But I read recently on Buddhafulkat’s website that it’s Poetry Month. It’s perfect timing, as we’re slogging through a unit on poems at school. Not just any poems but... dun Dun DUN: 
Poems... 
Iiiinnnn... 
Sssppaaaacceee... 
Like comics, poetry was not something I ever really got into.  I don’t have any old angsty poems where everything is black and depressive squirrelled away anywhere.I’ve got a vague handle on it from teaching it for so many years, and know the basics. I have recently borrowed a colleague’s favourite poetry book and am working my way through them to see if anything rubs off. So far though, still not a fan.

OK so admittedly the traffic isn’t usually as bad as this picture from the Hanoi Grapevine, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of hyperbole.



Gentle rain falls like mist
Bokeh on my visor
Muted tones, dull and damp
Occasional flashes of vibrant colour -
Like small gleaming fish
The yellow of altar flowers 
Awaiting sale in a basket.


Red light; a pause for thought
Discordant cacophony of horns
Be still, contemplate the moment
This time while watching others struggle
Empathise with them, even as they 
Swim like salmon, upstream against the traffic


Easing back into the flow, leaving a gap
So that others may be grateful
For the proffered mercy; not naivete this time 
But a rare case of kindness
On these hectic roads.


Bottlenecks and jams
Accompanied by strident honking
Savour the pause by being lost in thought
Practice patience and generosity.


Enjoying the warmth of fond memories
Buoyed and cheered by who awaits
The journey enhanced by the destination.


Final stretch, muddy puddles splashing
Warm chocolate merely lacking marshmallows.


Back to the loving embrace.

From Sinfest - perfect illustration if this is too overwrought. Not being a fan of the style, I can’t really tell.

The Red Box

Finance doesn’t really do it for me, so the prompt the red box for this week got turned into something else. This realistic stuff is more fun than I thought it would be, though I’m sure I’ll be back to dragons and spaceships soon enough. As always, there are already some  really strong entries, go read them all!

We had put the red box up high, out of reach - we thought - of curious little hands. We should have taken our cue from Pandora, and locked it away instead. The soft velvet covering was just too alluring, and the siren call of that within so tempting.

“Look mummy! Look! I’m a big girl, just like you!”

“She’s definitely your daughter,” my wife sighed.

I nodded in agreement, then reached for a weapon myself after the lipstick wielded by my wife skidded over my stubble to shrieks of appreciative laughter from our toddler.

“Doesn’t daddy look pretty too?”

Picture taken from here