Naru’s Last Moments — An Excerpt

Prologue

Deep blue light was cast over all the rough rocks and sand of the sweeping desert plain, by a slowly setting blue sun. In that sunset desert, there stood an imposing figure, one with black smoky skin, the smoky texture of which seem to swirl around a dim red light. His eyes, as the build of this creature suggested it was male, were glowing yellow with in black slits for pupils.  Ragged grey hairs jutted from its ashen scalp in every direction, frayed and twisted with age.  Hidden just underneath this bird’s nest of hair were the points of two small horns barely jutting out from the creature’s head. Despite horns and these unusual features, he stood on two feet. From the creature’s back, long wavering shadows, like tattered cloth, waved in the wind from their mooring place on its shoulders.

In his cruel red claws, the creature held a grim black bow made of bone and the branches of some long dead tree. With its other hand, the creature reached for a quiver on its hip, selected a long black shaft with crimson feathers and a nasty looking barb on the tip, and knocked the arrow. He drew it to sight the target, and let fly.

Troll in the Hole

“In his walk, Gerhard stumbled upon a small village. The welcome sign said that he had just reached the Village of Dum, birthplace of the great hero Tweedle-Dum. It seemed to be abandoned, so Gerhard searched around at his leisure. Whoa! Right in front of him stood a massive troll in bright clothes, reared to attack. Gerhard was about to run, when he noticed that it was merely a statue. But, he thought, how did the villagers make a statue with such life-like color? This was no paint. Recovering from the shock, Gerhard entered a hut and looked around. There wasn’t much to see, so he exited, and found himself staring at a large cave at the foot of a mountain. He would have to explore that later, but now he opened the book in his bag and lifted it into the air. After a few seconds, the telltale chime and glisten were cast from the page, and he brought it back to his level and began to read,

The Village of Dum is a quaint, rather fascinating little settlement of red thatch roofs and many, brightly clothed trolls…

 Gerhard slammed the book shut and stared at nothing. Trolls? He had only heard of them in legend, yet he knew enough to not need the book. That statue in the town square was a troll that had been caught in the sunlight! He shivered, not from fear, but from the cold. The sun was setting, and he began to see torchlight coming from the mouth of the cave. Running at breakneck speed, Gerhard hid behind a column and waited….”

–an excerpt from “Adventures in the Rabbit Hole” by RS Jacobs, 2006

Wielding the Wand

[You have to hang on till the end!  Here is a shortened version of yesterday’s post…to get you to the punch line more quickly.]

by: RS Jacobs

He sat there ensconced in polished brown safety; he stared straight ahead. There before him, glowing in brilliant light, was everything he cared to know about, and so much more. Looking ahead as he did, he took on the power of the Fates themselves. He could peer into the past, study the present world, and even discover the future. He could observe, in a distant fashion, the private lives of his fellow man. Struggles, victories, sorrows; all were laid bare to his all-seeing eye. In mere moments, he could journey from forest, to desert, to the depths of space. This was his telescope and grabbing claw to every universe — all in one.

At his left hand sat a sampling of the fountain of youth, seemingly seething with the energies of life itself. At his right, manna from Heaven. With the world before him, and life on either side, this was no man who graced this place with his presence, but a king.

Without diverting his gaze from the wonders that darted about his eyes, this king closed a meaty hand around the weapon of his choice: black in color, smoother than river stones, and studded with glory, but no larger than a wizard’s wand. Despite the size of the thing, the incalculable power of this weapon could end whole worlds, then bring them back as if they had never left. This rod of power could seize the reins of time, and seize them it did.

Taking on a countenance most pensive, he stroked his grizzled chin and sat in deep thought. Reactions to what he had seen raced through his head like hunting falcons. But this pondering only brought him to realize the gravity of his findings, and his hand rose to his face, as if to keep it from falling off.  He contemplated the power of the black rod, and when he could take no more, the black rod was brought up again. The flashing lights and echoing sounds were dismissed. He closed his eyes, exhaled a slow, deep breath, and said,

            “Five hundred channels, and nothing on.”

(Now that you know the punch line, go back and read Tiresome Visions for the full story.)

Tiresome Visions

by: RS Jacobs

September 2011

 

He sat there, like so many of his porcine relations before him. Ensconced in polished brown safety, he stared straight ahead. There before him, glowing in brilliant light, was everything he cared to know about, and so much more. Looking ahead as he did, he took on the power of the Fates themselves. He could peer into the past, study the present world, and even discover the future. But there was more; he need not stop at observations of the fabric of time. He could observe, in a distant fashion, the private lives of his fellow man. Struggles, victories, sorrows; all were laid bare to his all-seeing eye. In mere moments, he could journey from forest, to desert, to the depths of space. This was his telescope and grabbing claw to every universe — all in one.

At his left hand sat a sampling of the fountain of youth, an elixir of immortality. It hissed audibly, seemingly seething with the energies of life itself. At his right, manna from Heaven; the odor so rich, it could be said one partook of it with the nose, rather than the mouth. Every now and then, he would take it upon himself to enjoy a taste of these culinary riches of unfathomable worth, then to sigh the sigh of a man liberated from his heavy load. With the world before him, and life on either side, this was no man who graced this place with his presence, but a king.

Without diverting his gaze from the wonders that darted about his eyes, this king of mammon reached, grasped, and finally closed a meaty hand around the weapon of his choice: black in color, smoother than river stones, and studded with glory, but no larger than a wizard’s wand. Despite the size of the thing, the incalculable power of this weapon could end whole worlds, then bring them back as if they had never left. This rod of power could seize the reins of time, and seize them it did. He used this tool of devastation to suspend all time as it stood, so he could observe the finer details, then all resumed as if uninterrupted.

The king was satisfied with the rod’s performance, and it was returned to its place. In its stead, he took up a tome endowed with the knowledge rivaling the Oracle of Delphi. For beyond even the power at the king’s disposal, was the wisdom of the tome. Details on its silky pages foretold things that even the king had yet to see, but that he would in time. Sights yet unseen, sounds yet unheard — that was the realm of this tome of infinity. The king studied its pages closely, taking his attention from the light for a few brief moments, to discern the nature of his inbound premonitions.

But what the king saw distressed him greatly. A dark expression twisted his corpulent face, and the tome was closed and set aside. Taking on a countenance most pensive, he stroked his grizzled chin and sat in deep thought. Reactions to what he had seen raced through his head like hunting falcons. But this pondering only brought him to realize the gravity of his findings, and his hand rose to his face, as if to keep it from falling off. The king thought of all he had observed, and of the feeling most satisfying brought to his body by the food and drink. He contemplated the power of the black rod, and the untapped prescience of the prophetic tome. When he could take no more, the black rod was brought up again, and the flashing lights and echoing sounds were dismissed. He closed his eyes, exhaled a slow, deep breath, and said,

            “Five hundred channels, and nothing on.”