Hex owls’ quarry

Reduced flower tears coating my purple blood

I’m a hex owls’ quarry, digging myself under the lust

Least I welcome a thunderstorms blight upon us all

Poison flows in my mind, trying hard working it’s very bind

Cowering does not save my life



Clouds slowly kissing, kissing gently the bluefish sky
The rain is wet, but not an implement of cold
Leaves fallen on trees still linger on the ground, do they hate their former owner?

The main path is clear, but still stained with ages brown distain
We watch each other, meal long over but still remain

A whisper makes her hair climb slightly, like a bird not quite ready to find a new meal
Clasping cups that remain in heat of a baristas timeless work

Gracefully caressing from her frame in quaint herald of her bosom, a red and silver dress
Flowers of Eden, yellow, purple, blue, touch and take the eye to every magnitude

Words are ready, staring at her green eyes. Love and desire clearly filled. A sensual milk. A couple of hern. Claiming nights of skin touches melting inside a pool of cool solid and ever lasting words. A gathering electrict storm. A building gathering moss on its last day of life. A number of infinity discovered for second. Then.

Another cup of tea.

Sanguine melody

The bands of Fortia of the country of K’norman battled at the best of times. This year was different though. The band that had been the top contender had disappeared in mysterious circumstances on the road to Mantle’ka a huge dwarf mining outpost on the border with Etria. Etria was the foreign power Fortia was in a constant state of one one up man ship with. This usually would be a open and close case for Investigator Huw Rattlebone, he would get the local mob to search the debris and file a 256 for Bandit Attack. The issue was, 1 there was none and 2 the Band second in line by most accounts was now all collecting a modest amount of dead air time. Dead being how you say, operative. They were in fact all dead, in the beds they had spent the last night in. The hotel manager had been less than helpful, saying mostly they played the gig, left the bar at 11 and that’s the last he saw or heard. They had a floor to themselves, so no other witnesses.
Huw sighed. This would be a long day.
First things first. Crime screen set up and at least four plods on the door plus one on this floor. Next thing was his superior.

Guy Janes was a big man and had made chief investigator after many decades of rank creep. His Half-Orc status surprisingly helped, although not a smart man by any accounts he did know how files worked, and who reported to who and even could count higher numbers than most Humans you encounters on the street. This made him fantastic Police material and above all he could smell a rat a mile off.
“This looks like the work of someone we don’t want to deal with Huw.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, contorted necks, fish eyes, black marks on the Naples? This is the work of THE MOB”
The capitals where justified. They were the only organized gang in Fortia worth talking about. They killed anyone who owed them money, stepped on their turf, didn’t pay the protection money, and do on.
“I see. Then we just put in a 233?”
“Put a protection on the band third in line first I think”
“No one knows who that is yet. They only do two. If this is the MOB they want there to be no contender to the thrown, as it were.”
“I suspect we might need to be sure it was the MOB then. Let’s get a priest.”
“Are you sure?”
“yes, dead men can talk, but we have to persuade them first.”
“Ever notice there isn’t a god of policemen sir?”
“Just get the priest will you Huw.”