Sir Lucius Fons, The Long Ride

No one directed Lucius to go on a scouting mission, no one but his own military instincts about things.  Eventide Watch would need a good and current understanding of the terrains, villages, and especially the clan bases if they were going to protect their leader from anyone– or anything that might want to take a shot.

Lucius saddled up and rode out of Eventide before the sun came up.

He wanted to make the most of the day and drove Sunshine into the darkness as she snorted and galloped.

Lucius settled into his saddle for a long ride.

Pressing north towards what others had called “the frozen north”, he figured he would be able to make it to the Beast Lord’s shrine before the sun began to set.  With luck, he would arrive before the end of the day and find a place to camp near the shrine.

So he rode hard, and he rode fast, and because he was lucky, he made it to the shrine just as the sun began to set.

The Beast Lord was a smelly and impressive sight.

The red-skinned, goat-horned man was a High Priest of the god Jhebbal Sag, “who is, apparently, a divine manifestation of savagery and wild places,” thought Lucius. 20200112194123_1.jpg

So when Lucius saw the man and recognized the spiritual power of the place, he removed his helmet, kneeled, and then asked for a blessing.

At once the smiling beast-man took Sir Lucius and one other pilgrim to his sacred place.  Then, adorned in his garments, the Priest waved his holy goat stick, and touching the horns of Sir Lucius’ helmet said:

Vah ShaN ka! fATHER of All BEAST AND makER oF worLD….HEaR Howl OF you CHildrEN!

We COme with LOwereD head into DEn and seek the BLessiNGs of THe Father…THat This HelMet….Which have PLeasing scented HOrns OF You MOst sacred BEaST …GOat!…Be StronNG!


Afterward, Sir Lucius rose, thanked the Priest, received an offering for his liege, and then rode out of the holy place of Jhebbal Sag.


Happy Forgotten

Happy.  Happy.

Adoring unhappy is the worst part.

“I don’t miss you at all,” she sings.

 Something for a moment then nothing again.

“I felt your heart,” she sings.

Forgotten.  Forgotten.

Adoring memories and a sick heart.

“Lass mich dich halten,” she sings.

Remembered for a moment then forgotten,

the end.



Thrown Away…

…just like that.


Like the wrapper around a candy bar.   The part that gets torn off right before the candy is swallowed.  It’s no good. It’s just a flimsy outside layer, toss it out and forget about it.

Yesterday’s news is not interesting today. The avatar is almost out of sight.

Next it will be sitting down there beside the others– not seen anymore. Next.

I’ll scroll down and feel a nostalgic tinge of sadness.




Page Lucius

Baron Zorzi accepted Lucius into his house when the boy was but nine years old.

Lucius would be a Knight one day the old Baron figured, “whether or not I take him in, and if he is disciplined and completes his training, then I will promote him along with his whole family”, he thought as he signed the adoption decree.

Then once the document was signed and sealed inside an envelope, he sent another Page, Baron Zorzi’s youngest son Mateo, to fetch the lucky boy and bring him into the graces of his new life. It was to be the first of many times that luck smiled on  Lucius.

Thus Lucius was accepted into Knightly training at age 9– but by the age of 13 he was already an exceptionally impressive athlete– and very often showed it on the calcio field with grace and humility, and a surprisingly deep understanding of how lucky he was.

He was a boy with a grateful heart who new he was lucky and couldn’t help but beam with love for his Baron and faithful companion Meteo. Those two were thick a thieves and spent nearly every waking moment together during the early years.

At 13 he was given his own horse.  It was after 4 years of tending to 25 or so of them.  Brushing, leading, training, washing, caring, curing, shoveling– and dealing with life and death was his praxis.

Lucius named his horse Sunshine.

And the boy grew in wisdom and stature, and learned prowess, loyalty, courage, faith, humility, largess, and nobility.


The Festival of Set

220px-SetI am Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys, and it is I who remembers and records the great exploits of those who call themselves The Fangs of Set.

When I beheld the glorious Black Pyramid, completed after many days, and after many cracks of my whip, I could not help but cry tears of joy as I remembered what I had written before it’s completion on this barren desert plain in the west:

To whomever might read this, I write it and hope that one day I will be able to send it past the ghost wall.  I am Sasur-amen, Chronicler and Archivist at Apepthys, now the only one of my fallen Order…

…And so now I, Sasur-amen hold the whip to drive these faithful slaves to construct the Library of Sobek as the foundation of Pharaoh’s glory at Apepthys.

Within the Library the many cultures and nations are invited to behold the marvel that is Stygian culture!  And also to read scrolls and books, bathe, and or be comforted by one of those devoted to our mother Derketo. These things and many more luxuries will the Pharoah of Apepthys stoop to bless upon not only his subjects but upon the whole of the exiled lands!

Thereby the Prince shows his divine wisdom and merciful kindness!

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys

And so I wrote it.  And now it has come to pass that Apepthys stands as a glorious display of the marvel that is Stygian culture– and as it reaches into the sky it further calls for us to grasp and tremble before the might of Father Set. 

How wonderful now that the Festival of Set will be held at Apepthys!

Prince Setnakhte has decreed it as lawful to invite all of the exiles to come and enjoin his graces on that day.

Come then! all you who revel, stop your toils for a moment and enjoy a comfortable, splendorous display!

So says I, Sasur-amen, Archivist at Apepthys

The Downfall of Sir Lucius Fons of Poitain

“Infidelity burns like lava.  When it burns too hot it utterly destroys what it can consume, and when it cools it turns to stone.  My heart is a stone. It was on the day that I found my wife with another man that the lava burned within me.”

“For when I saw it I drew my blade and challenged the young man to a duel, as is our tradition of honor. I do not second guess my rage nor my honor but I have paid a hefty price for allowing hate, and with it rage, to burn so deeply within my heart.”

“Handily I killed the youth, only later to discover that I’d killed the son of Baron Hadrianus.  This Baron, not mine, was a close friend of my own liege. And so my act of rage led to this grim slave galleon to sit beside you, my lovely friend, that is all there is to it, all the rest is details.”

“What about you?”

The curious and overly talkative Zamorian salve woman remained uncharacteristically silent, and then only stared at the former Knight of Poitain as her arms moved with the rhythm of the oars– but not doing much, rather merely riding along… until the dignified Sir Fons gave the lady a gracious exit from the topic by adding, “But so many tales are not as neat as I have it my privilege.”

The slave then continued to ramble on until their shifts at the oars were long over and when they dragged themselves to shared bunks just previously occupied, they shared one and made love in that dirty place in a bid to lustfully numb their longing for some kind of comfort inside of a deep and abiding misery.

When they finished their lovemaking Sir Fons asked the woman, “What is your name?”, but she had already fallen asleep.