Flash Stories & Poetry Day 38: Gothic Legend "The Old Oath"

 

Hey, everyone.

Sorry this is going up so late again today. It was another weird day. See, I had already spun the wheel so I knew what I was working with, so I was avoiding this because my brain refused to come up with story. Finally, I re-spun it to replace one of the genres hoping I could get something I wouldn't be so afraid of working with. And I did. So, let's see if I can finally get this done.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!





Today's genre is... Crossover. And as with the last crossover, which two genres will I be crossing over? ... Gothic and... Legend.

Now, as I already explained, I've already re-spun this a few times. First time, I got Gothic and Drama, but turns out "Drama" is just a word meaning "play," and I had no idea how to come up with a Gothic play. I then got Religious and thought I could use that, but I was afraid I might come too close to my magnum opus Remnants of Chaos in terms of tone, so I passed it up. Now, I have Gothic and Legend, and I think I can use this. It'll be like a prequel for another idea I had just like that one horror legend I wrote. So, let's see if I can do this.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

Many years before I was born, the land of Lustweis was renowned for being the pinnacle of society. People from all over the world came to Lustweis for trade, work, and even for advanced medical care. But then came the Old Oath.

A group of wizened mystics came from the hinterlands claiming to follow a creed known as the Old Oath. It was one that required spiritual submission from all believers, but promised to open the ways of redemption, salvation, and transmundane evolution. Anacreon, the most decorated general of Lustweis and its greatest warrior, converted and obeyed to uphold the precepts of the Old Oath.

Within a span of only five years, Anacreon rose to the head of the order and became known as Aistan Anacreon, or Revered Anacreon, and had converted all citizens of the Citadel, the fortress city that had acted as Lustweis' capital. And then only three years after that, all of Lustweis converted and came under the Faith of the Old Oath.

All those who refused to convert were labelled as pagans or heathens and cast out into the wilderness. Lustweis lost its luster and became the world's largest and most powerful theocracy with Aistan Anacreon at its head. Those on the outside told stories of the purges that were taken up to cleanse the world of the pagans and the great atrocities carried out in the name of the Old Oath. But whatever evil its believers may have perpetrated, Lustweis' power continued to grow and soon its spiritual domination was beyond any doubt. Other forces in the world refused to war with Lustweis and evangelists found willing converts in neighboring lands. But the Old Oath's believers were soldiers first, and believers second. Everyone fought for the cause, even the mystics and priests.

The most effective method of evangelization dreamt up by Anacreon were his Hunters. Created in response to a vision from the Great Seer, Alured, who could speak directly to the Ancient One. Alured saw another entity, just as old and as powerful, recruiting followers to his creed and requiring unspeakably dark acts and other sins from them for the power they desired. These cultists were called Demoniacs, and so Anacreon created his Hunters to go out into the world and slay them all, including the monsters the Demoniacs became once they finished a ritual. The Faith of the Old Oath grew with each successful evangelization, but the Hunters themselves would eventually go mad from the eldritch and unearthly things they saw.

Two renowned Hunters of the Old Oath, Logarius and Hiram, went out on a mission to end a Demoniac cult and never returned. Hiram disappeared and Logarius is said to have fallen. That is where I come into the story.

***

 

And, I'm going to have to stop it there. It's a bit clunky, but it does get at what I'm trying to get at. For those of you who read my flash fiction story Old Oath, I decided to take that build it up into an actual novel. This here is the prologue of what that story is supposed to be about. I know it isn't technically a legend, not the way I wrote it anyway, but I needed to get this out of me. And it feels good to have done so. Anyway, if you want, you can read the Old Oath here on my blog. You might have to search for it though as I don't know where it is, but just so you know, it is based off the video game Bloodborne.

 

But anyway, that's it for today. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 29: Ballad "The Great Sojourn of Talianus"

 

Hey, everyone.

So, I have nothing funny or clever to say here. Let's just get to the poetry.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!







Today's topic is... Ballad. To be honest, did say lyric first, but I couldn't remember what I did for lyrics. I know I did something about a month ago for them, I can't remember what it was. However, then I remembered a little project I'm doing for Heroes of Majestia that I haven't worked on in quite a while. I actually don't suppose I'll get it out until next year, but I would like to work on it. So, this shall be the first part of The Great Sojourn of Talianus.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

Before he became a myth, a legend, a king, and a man,
Talianus was like the rest and began his quest like a lad;
Small was he with a great mane of red hair ere his tale began,
Desiring to be a hero, out he went in tatters clad.

He spoke real big about all the things he was going to do,
And about all the monsters and villains he would crush;
All the treasures he would steal and all the demons he would hew,
And whenever he would come around, all the maidens should blush.

Into the wilds he went, not knowing the legacy he would leave,
And how much the temples and priests he would grieve;
But near a pond outside his village, his first brush with death would come,
And to the charms of a long kelpie he would succumb.

As he tried to tame the beast to be his mount,
He had not the beast's mien taken into account;
Wherefore would such a rare horse meander to pond so calm,
Lest it meant to entrap wanderer and dash into black somme?

Trapped in its mane was he, unable to get free,
That monster tread the water with such glee and wouldn't hear his plea;
Alas, with a great rock, did he revenge himself with,
And he shattered that kelpie's head forthwith.

***

 

Okay, stop the clock. Well, that was rough. It took me most of my half hour and I only got five stanzas. Sorry; I was dragging ass all throughout and I had no idea what I was doing. This is a POS poem, if I'm honest. But, I think it will be all right as a base. It needs a lot of reworking and there are some parts where I can feel the legend isn't so legendary, but this poem helped to point out where those weak spots were. I wouldn't know where those weak spots are if I hadn't written this one. Maybe I should also read a few hero legends to get an idea of what the hell I should be doing.

 

But anyway, that's it for today. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 28: Horror Legend "The Journal"

 

Hey, everyone.

So, I'm not sure how in the world I'm going to write a short story about writing for a third time. I might say screw it and just write a regular short story. Writing about writing is only really fun with poetry and non-fiction. It's sort of difficult with fiction. So, let's see then.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!






Today's topic is... well, to be honest, I spun it multiple times because I wasn't satisfied with what I got. First I got legend, then horror, then mystery, and finally fairy tale. I do have a story idea that is about writing for horror/mystery, but it's more of a novel idea and I don't want to give it away here. Or, maybe what I could do is write a horror-mystery-legend and make it the prequel for my novel. That would be fun. Let's do it.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

A long time ago, there once was a man. He lived in a mansion on top of a hill. Those who saw him thought he was a most peculiar man. Whenever they saw him, he would be bent over, muttering curses under his breath. He always eyed everyone in the world with an eye of suspicion and hate. No one knew why, but he loathed the world and everything in it.

But the most peculiar thing about this man was that he always carried with him a leather bound journal. As he walked the world, he would be bent over his journal and constantly scribbling in it. Every day he filled those pages with his demented, wrathful thoughts. They seemed to fill the journal from cover to cover. But what was most alarming was that every day he filled the journal from cover to cover. Monday, cover to cover; Tuesday, cover to cover; Wednesday, cover to cover; the whole week, month, year long.

Some thought that perhaps he had more than one, but where he got them from no one knew; no one ever saw him buy anything. And yet, every day he had a journal filled with curses and malcontent thoughts. Some thought it was the same journal every day, but how could that have been possible?

Those who claimed it was the same journal said the journal was bewitched and that every day, the writing would be erased and the man would be forced to fill it again. But, there was another phenomenon that came to pass as the man continued to write. Every day he became a little bit meaner and a little bit older. Things that he didn't use to hate so much, he now abhorred, and though only a year had passed, he looked as if he had aged ten.

This led some people to believe that as he pored over the journal, he actually poured himself into it--his very life's essence was transported from his pen to the page and it became a part of the journal. For what point or purpose, no one knew, but they could see that the longer he wrote in the journal, the more embittered and older he became.

Then, one day, he no longer came around. For several days, no one said anything for they hadn't noticed his sentimental poison permeating the air. When someone did ask, no one answered. It took several more times and several more times after that for the question to be asked before someone finally gave the answer, "I don't know."

They went to his house on the hill and broke in. It was a cavernous, Gothic mansion, as bleak and as dark as him. They searched the whole house but found so sign of him. What they did find though sent shivers down their spine. While looking in his bed chambers, they found a skeleton, sitting at a desk, and beneath its hand was the leather bound journal--its pages were completely blank.

Haunted by the thought of what this could mean, they hastily dropped the skeleton into a trunk and moved it into the cellar. One paranoid fellow put a padlock on it for fear something might escape. As for the journal, it was lost in the shuffle, but some say it's still up there, hiding in the mansion somewhere.

***

 

Stop the clock! Okay, that's almost eleven minutes left. I know, I still have plenty of time, but I don't know how to make this longer and I'm getting sleepy. Which isn't good because I have Christmas cookies to bake. So, I was sort of rushing the story. Not everything is written as well in this piece as I would like it. For this week, I don't think I'm going to do a theme, but with Christmas coming, you can expect a lot of Christmas related posts. Maybe I'll write my own carol.

 

But anyway, that's it for today. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 25: Legend "The Author"

 

Hey, everyone.

I don't have anything clever to say today other than I hope I get legend or something unique when I spin the wheel as I can't imagine writing a legitimate short story about how important it is to write earnestly. Right.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!





Today's topic is... Legend!

Hey! Look at that! What do you know? No, I didn't get legend. I got drama. But I'm going to choose to ignore that and write a legend anyway. I'm also starting to think that maybe weekly themes is a bad idea if they cause me to just ignore the decision of the wheel, unless the weekly theme is sort of generic. But anyway, a legend about writing.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

When the universe was young and the planet still fresh, long before the time of man, the Creator made a being called the Author. The Author was charged with the responsibility of writing the fates of men, empires, and the path of history. Any time someone was born, died, went to war, rose to greatness, or fell, it was because the Author had written it to be so. Everyday, all day, he wrote in a castle on an island far out in the ocean so no one could interfere with the proper course of events.

One day, there was a farmer who had a son. According to the farmer, it was his son's duty to grow up and inherit the farm, but the son didn't want to inherit the farm. He wanted to be a hero. The farmer told his son that he couldn't be a hero, that every man was predestined to a fate by the Author. The son listened to his father when he was young, but as he grew, so too did his determination.

When he was still a young man and working out in the fields, he left his home without saying a word to his parents and began travelling. He came across a town where he found a mystic and demanded to know where he might find the Author. The mystic told him of a ship in the harbor that was headed out to sea, and that if the young man climbed aboard the ship and survived the storm it would pass through, he would find his way to the Author.

The young man went off and found the ship. He joined its crew and it carried him across the great sea. One night, the sailors were telling lies and talking about their broken dreams. When it came time for the young man to speak, he said he was on a journey to find the Author so he might become a hero. Some of the sailors laughed, others shouted at him, but they all told him the same thing: no man could change his fate. The young man persisted in his desire, and some of the men became angry. Some said they were now cursed for the young man had deserted his fate and had now put them all on a dangerous path from which there was no escape. They planned to throw him overboard to appease the gods, but a storm was suddenly upon them.

The sailors did what they could to control the ship and keep it together, but the men were thrown overboard. When things looked their most dire, the young man hid himself below deck and waited out the storm. When it came to an end, the young man came back up to the deck to find he was the only one aboard, and that the sails and wheel were irrevocably damaged. He had no way of fixing them and so he found himself at the mercy of the currents.

For five days and five nights he drifted out to sea. Several times he renounced his desire and prayed for death, prayed to be released from the curse he had cast upon himself. But after the five days and five nights, on the sixth morning, the ship ran aground on an island where a huge castle stood. The young man left the ship and entered the castle. He searched its great cavernous halls, but found no one there. He searched the rooms and still no one was there. He sat on the throne and thought himself a fool along with the whole world for believing in the legend of the Author. But as he quieted his mind, he faintly heard a scratching.

The young man followed the sound deep into the bowels of the castle. At the end of a hall, he found a small room where upon a desk was an old man, hunched over a scroll that was as long as time. The young man approached and said, "Are you the Author?" But the old man didn't respond. The young man asked his question again, but again there came no answer. The young man stepped closer to the scroll and suddenly saw the old man's hand change from writing action to dialogue.

"I am the Author," he said as he wrote. "I am the one who writes the fates of men."

"I want to change my fate," said the young man as he saw the Author scribble those words.

"I know," said the Author. "I'm the one who has made it so that you may change your fate by writing your path here."

"I wouldn't have made it here if you hadn't written it?" asked the young man.

"That's correct."

"But why did you allow me to make it here? Why do you allow me to choose my fate rather than write it yourself? Why did you kill those on the ship?"

"I have sympathy for all the characters in life, but some are foolish. Some I choose to let die for they are mundane, but for those in whom I see true greatness, I let them write their own story. It only seems right; your life, your story. Your story, your life."

"I can become a hero because I have chosen it?"

"And because I allow it. But, you won't be the hero you think you will be. You will go out from here and tell the people what I have told you. Some of them will choose to live as heroes and as great men, and some will continue to follow the path set before them. But better it is that some should have what they want than none of them."

"What sort of hero is that?" asked the young man.

"The sort of hero that allows for the birth of other heroes. The hero that sets the path for those to follow. You are the first cause in a great movement. Now, go. You and I both have work to do."

And so, the young man left the castle and boarded the ship. The current took him back to land and he told his tale about what the Author. Some people listened, others did not. But for those who did, they found their paths cleared and they became the heroes they longed to be.

***

 

Stop the clock! A minute twenty left. That took longer than I thought it would. I also didn't have the clearest idea about where this story was headed, but I think I made my point. I'm sure many other writers will be able to see the parallel between this legend and the way they write themselves occasionally. And hopefully the lesson of this legend isn't lost those writers who can't see the parallel.
 

But anyway, that's it for today. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar