Keith Edward English, Wordsmith

     Gods convened as a final dark figure emerged from the anomaly of light. The spectacle was nauseating, glimpses of limbs and torsos tangling together then being spat out and taking form with each arrival. The portal was a mass of dim, white light that folded in on itself incessantly as if it were smoke billowing from a forest fire.

Despite the several black flames smoldering in the corners, darkness blanketed the room. The odd light dancing around the room from the supernatural flame was scant at best and did nothing more than suggest the corners of the hooded robes covering the figures and the furniture set in the middle of the room.

Black and white ruled this place and the figures inhabiting it would have it no other way. The latest one to arrive sat down with the others and all six chairs around the table were now full. Continue reading “Game of Gods Prologue” →

Deth Uk and the enemy fell quickly. Soon the avenues became choked by corpses and the living began tripping over limbs and swords. All the streets were occupied by men fighting ’til their final breath.

Ukebrelek’s old body began to move in the steady rhythm of a man anticipating death and murder. The dam that kept his bloodlust in check shattered and he hobbled into the fray. One arm held a staff that kept him up while his other fist gripped a scavenged axe that he swung without grace, but with savage fury.

The old man shouted as he fought, in both anger and pain as his bones and muscles protested each quick step and hard twist. Suddenly, fire erupted across his face as a blade sliced through his left eye, destroying it and opening a large gash from his brow to his jaw. The pain was horrific, paralyzing, and Ukebrelek was only allowed a few seconds to comprehend his ruined vision. His other eye reflexively shut and he groped his face, losing his grip on the staff that kept his feet beneath him. Continue reading “A Snippet from Game of Gods: Ukebrelek Joins the Fight” →

Micale stirred in his cot to Phalax’s left, squinting his eyes as shafts of light spearing from the cracked shutters struck his face. Phalax placed the pad of paper and charcoal pencils he’d been drawing with for the past thirty minutes on the floor next to his chair. A single rose was etched onto the page, one he had replicated many times. “Morning, Micale.”

“Is it now?” Micale grumbled in response. “Already?”

“Eh, it is a little early. But you slept all night long.”

“Can’t I sleep for a week?”

“Some people call that death. I don’t think that would fit you well.”

“Obviously not. At least not with these wizards. My back is sore as all hell thanks to them.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t blame them.”

“No. But it feels better to be a little angry at someone rather than just in pain. Well, now I’m really up thanks to your blathering.” Micale grinned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His smile turned into a frown as pain seared his back though.  Continue reading “A snippet from Game of Gods: Talking of Home” →

The wizard surfing the skies and raining death down upon the streets looked over his shoulder then signaled the others to move that way. Phalax began, along with the others, managing two feeble steps before he was frozen in place by horror.

Strength fled from him the instant he looked into his son’s eyes. Holris was terrified, pleading for his father to save him. A creature from the depths of hell stood several yards to his side, lanky arms nearly scratching the street with curved, dagger-length claws. This was the thing that had killed Holris, then murdered Felicia, his wife. Continue reading “A snippet from Game of Gods: Phalax’s Family” →