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Prologue: Armageddon

Kieran looked up. The maelstrom that had been brewing over the distant horizon was now much nearer and decidedly a lot more violent than he had anticipated. Lightening zigged and then zagged through the hovering gloom and he could discern tiny scurrying figures far, far below, anxious to get out of the storm.
His perch high above Khand’um’s clock tower was not exactly a vacation on the golden beaches of Parsvania but it would have to do.
The rain began. Slowly at first but with increasing intensity till each drop was a liquid boulder. Kieran grunted, shrugged his massive shoulders and unfurled his gigantic wings, shaking pearls from his feathers before tucking them away under his billowing sable cloak. Twelve feet from tip to tip and black as the other side of midnight, Kieran’s wings were the most obvious symbols of his authority. The race of Anduluza – the birdmen, dominated the Fifteen (and a half) Kingdoms*—or what was left of it. Their slaves were the lowly Homo sapiens—menial servants fit for nothing except agriculture, beer-brewing and occasional sexual amusement. Not tonight.
Kieran rubbed his hands together. Not so much too keep warm, than out of anticipation of the events to follow. His death had been foretold. He was going to die before dawn would break. Even though he held the tales of the soothsayers in regal disdain, he could not ignore the prickly feeling that ran down the base of his neck, settling in his spine.
Kieran stood slowly and grimly removed his cape, laying it on the parapet below him. He stowed the great jewelled clasp that held it around his mighty throat in a fine leather pouch by his waist. The giant beryl gleamed in a flash of lightening. It was time. Time to hunt the men, nay the slaves, who had dared scheme against him. He unfurled his great black wings slowly, flexing his immense muscles. With a snap that was lost in the thunder, and a sneeze that drowned it out, he soared away into the black mountains of cloud, high above the city, hunting…hunting for prey.

* The half kingdom was really the unruly princedom of Bahir that saw way too many succession battles for its own good. The old king had died leaving an only daughter. Bahiri succession laws being as outdated as they were, women were not allowed to rule. Princess Barbi was now pushing 80 and her multitude of offsprings (legitimate and otherwise) fought tooth and nail for what was the lamest excuse for a country.

wow... nice

Even though it's but a short piece of the story it sucked me right in,nice descriptions

maelstroms


aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh

*traumatised by maelstroms* =)

hey thanks

sorry i cant give away more...there wouldnt be any point in publishing it then...

Very nice mate. Is this book going to be available for weedguru members to purchase?

Sounds like it'll be a good read. I like fantasy shit like that sometimes. Wish I knew a little bit more about the background of the world and characters, but I guess that's what the book is for.

second installment:

Two thousand feet below him and several metres to the right, Randall nursed his eye. This was the second fight he’d gotten into in the past half hour—unnatural even by his standards—and the unemployed thief was getting bored, not to mention bruised. He pulled his large misshapen feet up of the filth-covered excuse of a floor and gestured to Pandu, bartender, waiter, bouncer, manager and owner of the Pisspot Tavern for a refill.
The damn Anduluzans had been patrolling the streets of the Inner City for hours now, despite the pouring rain. He’d learnt, through trial and error (mostly error), that the best time to pick pockets was in the rain. The birdmen abhorred water, especially when they couldn’t control it. To see them now in groups of three gliding through the slick streets with giant plastic umbrellas, ignoring the drizzle, gave him the shivers.
Pandu had leaned over and whispered that Kieran, the Lord of the Citadel, was looking for a groom and the Anduluzans were out in force to match make as it were. Randall had rolled all three eyes at this. The Anduluzans (he preferred calling them birdbrains—it seemed so much more appropriate) were always looking for excuses to maul, dismember and occasionally sodomise the local human population. That was all the entertainment they had.
Gulping down the last of his firewater, he shrugged on his great (stolen) coat and shambled into the sleet. Far above him, a small figure circled, watching, waiting.

Kieran wasn’t unduly worried about dying. He knew no human hand could kill him. Still, he wasn’t about to sit around and let them have a go at him. Sachor his chief counsellor and wisest of the Anduluzans had come to him earlier that day whispering words of doom and death. Kieran had laughed, finished masturbating and patted the old buzzard (wiping his hand at the same time) on his shoulder. “You worry too much,” was all he said before pulling his cloak around him and strolling from the room.
The rain was beginning to irritate him now. Already he had narrowly avoided being skewered twice by passing lightening bolts as the Thunder Giants took their game to a whole new level.
Then he saw it. Below…far, far below, a group of humans were assembling. Kieran’s eyes already sharper than a wareagle’s were pinpricks of concentration. The time had come.


Randall was lost…hopelessly, irrefutably and completely. He lived across the street from the Pisspot. He had taken three steps out the front door, had been hit by SOMETHING moving incredibly fast and had passed out. When he awoke a few minutes later, he was spread-eagled on the pavement with a street lamp rising out from between his legs.
Staggering to his feet, he had started in the general direction of his house when he realised that nothing looked familiar. He was in an unfamiliar street, looking at unfamiliar people who held very unfamiliar razor sharp rapiers.
Randall searched his rags for his back-up pint of firewater. The leader of the group already had the point of his sword on Randall’s rapidly bobbing Adam’s apple. “Are you from around here?” asked the stranger in haughty yet urgent tones. Too petrified to speak, Randall merely shook his head. “Want to live?” was the next question and Randall came within a quarter of an inch from losing his neck.
Five more men came up out of the gloom and peered at the dishevelled stranger. Randall could make out that although they were clearly slaves, they had the look, the build and the manner of the Anduluzans. He swore under his breath. “Halfbreeds,” he muttered and was promptly pushed down.
Although the Anduluzans never attempted to force themselves on human women (being an entirely homosexual species) they nonetheless needed their wombs to extend their race. Most of the ensuing offspring were genetically modified before birth to be exactly like Daddy with defective embryos discarded in the trash or served as pickled hors d’oeuvres at State dinners. There were rumours of a few that had survived, but had proved to be unfounded. Till now. Randall, although intrigued, was more interested in keeping his head on his shoulders and his penis between his legs. Half-Anduluzan or no, they still looked decidedly gay and definitely homicidal. He was yanked up, dragged to the curb and thrown unceremoniously against a helpfully open doorjamb. “Stay here,” said the fallen faggot and slunk away down the alley with his cronies right behind.
“Well that’s the end of that,” sighed Randall to himself, picking himself up gradually. He didn’t see it till it was too late. Out of the corner of his centre eye (the left one as already swollen), he saw a black blur drop out of the sky and head toward him at impossible speed. By the time he turned his head, it was all over. All that was left of Randall, the three eyed, unemployed thief was a bundle of rags and a slightly cracked half empty bottle of firewater.

I find your writing quite similar to that of Terry Pratchett, if you've ever read any of his stuff, i think you'll know what i mean.

Maybe.

Right....

edit: the disworld series is one of my favourites

him and this other guy : Dan Mcgirt...but seeing as these are the only two people in this genre, i thought id give it a shot. Plus noone in India writes on fantasy fiction..here its all magic realism, surrealism and other big words i cant understand

If you've ever read Mort - Terry Pratchett, that's first book that came into my head when i read your writings.

A_Fire_Inside wrote:If you've ever read Mort - Terry Pratchett, that's first book that came into my head when i read your writings.

yeah thats part of the Discworld series..damn fucking funny..