I sit with pen and paper but then recall,

I must do the dishes, another stall,

Check the mail and do the washing up,

I fancy tea; I’ll have a cup,

Vacuum round and tidy the mess,

So many things to do, the stress!

I’ll pop to the shop for bread and butter,

I rush round like a complete nutter,

Sweep the kitchen floor, make the bed,

I should be writing but I clean instead,

Dust the shelves, call my mum,

Then Gran and goodness!  I’m struck dumb,

As what I’m writing joins the conversation,

And I realise my foolish procrastination,

Make some food and dry the dishes,

See to the children, grant their wishes,

I must do this; I’ll just do that,

Feed the fence and paint the cat?

I’m getting muddled! I should’ve made a list!

There’s so much stuff to do that I’ve missed,

What was I doing?

I sigh and then I smile,

Of course, I was writing,

But I’ll do that in a while.

Writing Prompt No. #8

whilst we’re all waiting for baldy to reclaim his sanity and get some computer issues sorted, why not have a go at a baldy-prompt?

We writers have two issues that plague us (with or without technology’s added problems):  Writers’ block (which I hope to dispel with these prompts) and ‘procrastination’ so I thought we could have a double prompt today.  Pick either and writes a poem or piece of flash fiction about writers’ block or procrastinating and please do send me a link to your post as I would love to reblog your endeavours.  GOdd luck and best wishes to all.  Keep smiling and keep writing!  Best wishes from Baldy 🙂




Colour-Blind & Colourless

These two poems are for Sahm King and We Drink Because We’re Poets, following his magnificent monday prompt.  Best wishes from Baldy.




A world absent colour,

Blight upon the eye,

Love prefers a broader palette,

Not shades that cry,

Friendship enjoys a tapestry,

Of vibrancy and delight,

Rid the world of races,

Be one with all tonight.





A world holds its breath,

As gods, observing,

Stand idle, perhaps helpless,

Themselves as undeserving,

Individuals are punished,

By cruel despots, our kin,

Made slaves again to hate and pain,

For wearing different skin.


Is it not enough that poverty,

And famine causes such strife?

We go to war over religion,

And rape what’s good in life,

Racism – So ridiculous!

Bless all the flesh’s hues,

It’s about time we were responsible,

Some still need to change their views.

Pals (for Sahm King’s WDBWP prompt)

Sahm King refreshed my memory with an enchanting poet and philosopher called Khalil Gibran in his monday writing prompt for ‘We drink Because We’re Poets’  My poem isn’t exactly in-line with his prompt, but it is connected to an extract from Kahlil Gibran’s the Prophet (which is a masterpiece that I highly reccomend, ISBN 0-330-31972-8).

Thanks to Sahm for the prompt and reminder of this magnificent writer.  If anyone reading this has not visited We drink Because We’re Poets, please do as Sahm and the team do a fantastic job of advocating poets and poetry.  Keep smiling and keep writing, best wishes from Baldy 🙂

From Khalil Gibran’s ‘The Prophet’:


When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the

‘nay’ in your own mind, nor do you withhold the



And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen

to his heart;


For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all

desires, all expectations are born and shared, with

joy that is unacclaimed.


When you part from your friend, you grieve not;


For that which you love most in him may be clearer

in his absence,as the mountain to the climber is

clearer from the plain.


And let there be no purpose in friendship save the

deepening of the spirit.




Or Carburettor, Rugby Union, Means: I Love You, Man

You leave me alone,

When I want to be on my own,

And my wishes,

You have heeded,

But you’re always there,

To show that you care,

And always when,

You’re needed.

Though hard to conceive,

You may not believe,

But I have nothing,

But respect for you,

Because you’re solid as a rock,

And when I take a knock,

You prove yourself a pal so true.

I feel lucky to know,

That wherever I go,

You’re only a phone-call away,

A shoulder to cry on,

Someone I rely on,

And you know how to make my day.

You ensure there’s no strife,

I love that you’re in my life,

And feel that I’m on the mend,

It is important I must,

Say that in you, I trust,

My pal, my mate my friend.





Mysterious Island (an Excerpt from Baldy’s Book)

I had a couple of ideas on what to produce for Lilith’s short story prompt pertaining to the mysterious island but, alas, time is no friend of mine and I am struggling at present not to relapse in to lazy and procrastinating ways (tiredness being my new excuse, human frailties enrage me!).  I have an island in The archipelago of Kira (within my mythological world of Cyralost) called ‘Island of Mystery, which I thought to write something about for this prompt as I was feeling most inspired, but I got sidetracked and no amount of caffine could have kept me awake any longer last night.

I desperately wanted to share SOMETHING on this topic as it has been eating at me, so I decided to share a small piece from my forthcoming book, The Chronicles of Tarkus: Dungeons of the Deep, where something similar to Lilith’s mysterious island appearing like the re-emmergance of Atlantis occurs.  I hope you like it (and pray to Gary Gygax that you’ll like the book when its published).

Here’s my Mysterious Island interpretatuion:


From Chapter Eight, The Rise of Mytharia Illidure

The waves were choppy, the ocean vast and surprisingly colourful with blues and greens treating the eye to an aquatic Panorama, the salty smell was fresh and the breeze was pleasant, lifting the spirits as much as the sails.  The Sun Star Sextant gave an explosion of light that momentarily blinded everyone, announcing they had arrived at their destination.

“All stop, Mr Grim!”  Hollered The Dread Pirate Daev, who began pacing and switching his gaze from the ocean to the sky, where The Blue Star hovered.

“This should be interesting.”  Said Shyb as The Blue Star came to a halt, bobbing up and down slightly as if waiting restlessly for something.  From this distance, the crew of The Volunteer could see the strange apparition for what it was, a great sphere of azure that looked like a constant cascade of perfect water, rushing round and round thunderously whilst it spun continuously.  The sphere was caged in chains of lightning that flashed and crackled with green fire.  The jade coloured electric bonds lashed out like magic bullwhips and struck anything that came close, exploding birds that plummeted to the ocean (which now began to move).

There was no loud silence as that terrible cost had been paid two hundred years ago.  The ‘star’ thrummed, the millennia of its passage echoing distantly in everyone’s mind.  The pirates stood transfixed, Tark and his companions surrounded by the former slaves and all hypnotized by the strange beauty of the magical anomaly, the sphere emitted a powerful vibe of destiny and many sensed a warning in that feeling; the magicians in particular.

The glare from the beam of light projected by The Sun Star Sextant winked out suddenly and it dropped to the deck as if someone had pushed it from the pedestal.  The Dread Pirate Daev remembered to breathe and scooped up the priceless instrument, desperately excited as The Blue star’s arrival rang something in the empyrean, the sky turned grey, though not like a dark change in the weather; it was more ominous in feeling as if the heavens had been swapped with something sinister from the void.

The ocean began to move as if caught in a storm without rain, there was no wind either, but the ocean still swelled, great waves rising; causing the crew to become animated and work at keeping the vessel safe.

“Look!”  Cried Gooscar, pointing at the area that churned like a maelstrom, sinking in to the ocean and creating an inverted whirlpool that spun without spray, magically caged and thankfully so as the unnatural thing looked frightful!  It ceased almost as soon as it started, though in truth it was burrowing down through the ocean, out of sight of those above sea-level and sinking to the ocean floor where it began to pull at and propel the sunken city.

The ocean appeared calm once more, everyone looking around, unsure what to say or do, their initial panic over and the ship still in the all-calm.  The Blue Star throbbed, the cascade rushing round faster and faster to pull energy from somewhere to drag its quandary closer.  The seas parted, great curtains of ocean water thundering in on themselves, the Star’s green lightning striking intermittently at something colossal that was rising from the deep.

The boat began to tremble as if something was hammering on the deck, a sudden jerk causing everyone to stumble and grip the rails.  The pointed roof of a great tower rose above sea-level, announcing the arrival of Tenera’s former capitol.  Covered in seaweed and kelp, the detritus of the ocean floor clung to the wet stone, marble and slate of a city two centuries below the waves.

The turrets of the imperial palace could be made out now, followed by a high bridge (which Shyb was reliably informed was called The Bridge of Time, a great span of stone and mythore used for experimental magic involving travel across the planes and  even time though tales of this were suspected to be myth, legend or fairytale).  Domes and roofs, spires and the tops of tall buildings preceded the rise of the ruined city proper, Mytharia Illidure was a wonder to behold, even in this tragic state of decay, some areas seemed untouched, somehow magically preserved (which they were).

A giant skeleton clung to the side of the imperial palace, impaled on a flag pole and hanging limply to one side, the mammoth remains echoing the history of the almighty battle that culminated in Mytharia Illidure’s demise and removal from the known world.

Tark could almost see the Oark horde besieging the walls and the Giant of Norsengar attacking.  His history was a little rusty though and he could not recollect how the colossal being had been felled, maybe he should ask Doren.  The city kept rising, the lower parts coming in to view and the hills levelling out but stopping suddenly and dropping a dozen feet or so before the ground angled down at a slant like it had been hacked by some ungodly jagged knife.

Rock hewn from its natural environment, showed where the ground had literally been torn before the incredible upheaval and consequent levitation.  Up and up it went, the city’s foundations evident in parts and tunnels wide open to expose areas of labyrinth secreted within.

The Blue Star slowed to a soft roll and then dropped from its suspension to circumnavigate the city, flying round twice before returning to its previous position.  Mytharia Illidure sank slightly as the curtains of water closed, the rocky promontory resting on the waves and sitting there as if the island had been there all along.

The crew stared in wonder, silent and shocked, still unable to assimilate what had just happened.


Appendices anyone?


Aaron Jacobs

Aaron Jacobs was born and raised on Tarkus, in the village of Elwyn where he worked with his father, uncle and older brother, Daedric as a carpenter and furniture maker; happy in the family business which prospered due to the hard work and fine craftsmanship the four of them put in.

Aaron was fortunate enough to have been schooled in the imperial college and even attended classes with the young emperor, Jarnark Elspar though he can’t really claim to have been friends with the ruler and to be honest, tried his best to avoid him where possible due to the emperor’s quick temper and seemingly split personality.

It was ‘Old Badger’, his tutor (and famous tutor to many great and aspiring individuals) who recognised ‘the spark’ and encouraged Mr Jacobs to explore his magical potential.  Against his father’s wishes, Aaron travelled to sorcerer’s Isle, off the coast of Tenera, to study with the wizards there and learn how to best spend the cost of mana fuelled endeavours and educate himself in the various schools of magic.  Aaron left Sorcerer’s Isle at the age of twenty nine, having spent a decade immersed in myth-lore and magic books and proving himself to be a powerful wizard with great patience and restraint.

Though Aaron had become proficient in most schools of magic he excelled in transmutation spells and even wrote a couple of volumes regarding these (both of which are highly valued and still used to teach today).

Returning to Tarkus after a difficult voyage that involved a diversion to Urvasinia and an adventure in the ruins of a wytch king’s castle, Aaron Jacobs was welcomed home by his uncle only to find out that his father and brother had been sent to the imperial dungeons for some imagined crime perceived by the mad king.  Seeking justice, Jarnark agreed to release the imprisoned family but no one could remember where in the dungeons the Jacobs had been incarcerated so Aaron had to venture in to the nightmarish labyrinth of terrors to recover them (see appendices for Bead Meadow and Imperial Dungeons).

Fortunately, the ‘Probation of Paladins’ was under was so Aaron managed to enlist the help of a brave warrior.  Aaron managed to save his father (who forgave him after Aaron’s magic saved them) and brother, though Daedric lost an arm in the ordeal and returned his family to Elwyn, harbouring a grudge against the mad king ever after.

After six months nursing his brother back to health and acquiring contracts for the family to improve the business after the hammering it took from the loss of the imperial contract and subsequent imprisonment of his father and beloved sibling; Aaron moved to the south-east of the island where he built himself a tower to live, study and practice magic in peace.

Aaron’s studies brought him to the realisation that the lost university of Mytharia Illidure (and its incredible wealth of magical artefacts and spell books) may be intact and protected by magic below the waves.  Further investigation led to the discovery of the anomaly in the magic surrounding Mytharia Illidure that would cause the sunken city to rise from the depths for a limited time and Aaron spent a year working out its rough location and looking for a magical artefact called The Sun Star Sextant that could possibly lead him to it.

Mr Jacobs then set about trying to find a crew brave enough and greedy enough to take him to it, which is where we come to the part of his life when he fell in with The Dread Pirate Daev.


Bryn Gurner

Bryn Gurner was raised in an orphanage on Calastria, not far from the Dwarven city of Jorthram.  He had been abandoned at the doorstep, left wrapped in a dirty sheet with nothing to give a link to his identity, no note, no possessions and nothing to mark him other than his black skin which suggested he came from Bexter Island.

The carers of the orphanage, run by the monks of Maigen (the goddess who blessed and favoured children and the Smallfolk) raised him until he was about nine years old and then apprenticed him to Grey Gurner, a cook of some repute, who had catered for kings.

Bryn’s childhood was a happy one, never neglected and never wanting for anything.  It was a humble upbringing; Bryn learnt humility and patience and never took anything for granted.  The boy was hard working and always kept himself busy, loving to be creative and easily inspired.

Grey Gurner was an excellent teacher, a father to young Bryn and a strict disciplinarian who ensured his apprentice (who was more like an adopted son, and later took Grey’s name) learnt quickly by hitting him with the rolling pin if he got something wrong.

Bryn got in to trouble all the time when not under the strict supervision of the cook and often saw the inside of a cell wherever they travelled.  Bryn grew to be big, a giant of a man like his adopted father, through a healthy diet and great exercise.

Grey Gurner lost his life during a Hoblin raid and Bryn (who was incarcerated at the time) was left alone in the world again.  At the age of twenty five, Mr Gurner kept his father’s business running for a while; living off his father’s reputation but soon realised he could make a better living as a mercenary and so sold his sword to whoever would pay the most.

Bryn worked as a sword for hire for five years, fighting in the Dwarf Dale War and then for various gangs and guilds as a bully or bodyguard until falling in with Grim and The Dread Pirate Daev.


The Blue Star

Every two hundred years,

The Blue Star doth appear,

Foretold by prophet, teller, seer,

Through the sky, The Blue Star steers.


From the Fable of Fallen Mytharia Illidure.


Widely believed to be a comet that arrives regularly, every two centuries, The Blue Star is in-fact a sphere of unknown substance that is filled with and emits an incredible amount of mana.  By appearance, the sphere appears to be an illuminated ball of water as it is wet (though none have ever touched it to prove it), has the sound of running water (though none have been close enough to hear it) and looks like a constant stream of silver and blue, azure and sea-green, forever cascading but rolling round and round as the sphere moves so fast even if its course is sometimes fairly slow.

Around the sphere is an ever present electrical cage, like lightning encasing it.  If ever someone or something came close to The Blue Star, a charge would shoot out like a powerful lightning spell and strike the curious creature.  The star has felled Gryphons and Dragons.

There are only two survivors of the sphere’s presence, one of which is Darquelle, who used the power of the sphere to move the city of Mytharia Illidure (though his mount, a terrifying Dragon called Inkarcitar was almost slain and took a debilitating wound to the shoulder that made its left wing useless and so permanently grounded the monster) and the Dragon King, Asithanazaeroun who is no longer with us but survived the sphere’s attack.

No one knows what is inside the sphere (though there are a great many theories including that which suggests it is a prison, a cage that holds the singers) but it is fabled to land and open like curtains of water to emit whoever or whatever resides within.  This is just hearsay, nothing has been recorded, it may well be some sort of star.

The Blue Star travels around the universe at a phenomenal speed, coming to Cyralost every two hundred years where it slows its travel and moves through the world at a stately pace, passing through anything in its way, leaving empty spherical space where it passed.  There is a mountain in The Peaks of Ravensky (on Calastria) where The Blue Star passed and left a perfectly round tunnel, the sides of which are glassy and static.


The Fiddle of Fealty

This marvellous, mischievous and magical musical instrument was discovered on the Bridge of Time in Mytharia Illidure with the body of a drowned and dripping man who had either tried to escape or been forced across the bridge in the future (as the fiddle is unique and it will be centuries before its like will be crafted!).  The musician had gone back in time to a period where the fabled fallen city was still beneath the waves, before the Bridge of Time sent him back to a time during Mytharia Illidure’s prime.

The fiddle itself was a polished piece of walnut tree, with strings made of Harpy Hair and the bow appeared much the same.  It was discovered that when a sound was played on the instrument, those around the musician suddenly found them charming and attractive, becoming completely besotted (even those of the same sex) and whether they were a baker or a king, they found themselves willing to do anything to please the fiddler.

Fortunately, the spell only lasts a couple of hours (though continued exposure to the fiddle’s music will eventually have an influence on one’s subconscious and the victim will genuinely start falling for the player – though not to the point of doing anything unless directly under the spell).

It is believed that the fiddle of fealty remains in Mytharia Illidure but since its discovery, other instruments have been imbued with a similar spell as inspired by the fiddle.  Tales of the ‘Lute of Love’ and the ‘Flute of the Faithful’ have been heard across Tenera and Urvasinia boasts a ‘Lyre of Loyalty’.


The Loud Silence

The loud silence is the feeling everyone gets before magic occurs (felt slightly more strongly by practitioners of magic and beings that are naturally magical such as the Fae).  It usually occurs as a magic spell is being cast and the stronger or more powerful the magic, then the stronger the feeling (or the louder the silence so-to-speak).

When magic happens, mana is absorbed in to the spell-caster, artefact or magical creature/phenomenon from which the spell will flow and it is the movement of mana, the drawing of energies from various elements (wherever the cost is being taken from) that causes the loud silence before taking the cost of that magic from its source.

Very few people are known to be ‘deaf’ to the loud silence (not feeling the mana flow) and these are very rare individuals who should be avoided at all costs as they are unnatural and are detrimental to the soul of the world.  Those who are ‘deaf’ to the loud silence are prophesised to be the ones who will bring an end to all the known universes (in this plane of existence).


The Mace of Mastery

Three feet long, made up mostly of an iron shaft inlaid with runes of melted mythore, the slender handle is barely wider than a wizard’s wand, perhaps as round in girth as a female Unicorn’s horn.  It is Unicorn’s horns that make this misery making masterpiece so malign.

The foot of the shaft is a loop of nondescript leather, used to hook or attach the weapon to a saddle or satchel strap as necessary.  The mace itself is a thick cylinder of bone, thought to be a Troll’s thigh bone (though no exact record of the mace’s maker or its creation exists).  Protruding from the skeletal cylinder are a dozen sharp shards of ivory which are in-fact the sawn off horns of Unicorns, ground and shaped to fit the weapon.

In a talented magic user’s grip, the mace can deliver a powerful blow that will not only harm the defender physically (wounds that can result in crippling or even death due to the weight of the weapon) but can send the victim in to a fit of depression and despair, making them suicidal because of the overwhelming sadness and grief of the tortured Unicorns’ magic.

If the wielder of the Mace of Mastery speaks the command word inscribed in the runes on the haft, the mace will explode whatever it hits on impact, whether it be a wall or a living being (which makes a disgusting mess).  Those who use the Mace of Mastery are usually evil in alignment; those who are good or pure of heart have difficulty wielding the woeful weapon and usually succumb to depression soon after using it.

The Mace of Mastery was last known to be secured in the temple of Valen in Mytharia Illidure when clerics of that faith were able to wrestle the awful weapon from a barbarian in a skirmish preceding the War of the Wizards.


Sam Whitegate

Sam Whitegate is about as honourable as one can be as a pirate, brought up in a strict environment under the fiery temper of his father and the honest morals instilled in him by his mother (whom he loves dearly).  Sam’s youth was not unhappy, despite the absurd discipline expected of him and the beatings he received for the slightest mistake.

In his teens, he tried to get his mother to leave her husband and for the pair of them to run away as his father descended in to an alcoholic oblivion that was only interrupted by the violence he dished out to his wife and child.  Sam was not the most handsome of boys and the beatings took their toll on his face, his nose broken so many times it now stood at a most bizarre angle and his other features left a face that only a mother a mother could love.

The beatings only served to harden the young man, who learned to accept pain and injury and earned his keep by fighting in the gambling dens; his ability to take a punch allowing him an advantage to learn another’s moves and eventually win most bouts.

He also learned to move quickly and climb trees and walls to escape his drunken father’s temper.  Young Sam’s heart broke a little every time he heard his mother cry and one evening, coming home from one fight, he walked in on another.  Sam’s mother was crying on the floor and her husband was kicking her, swearing and cursing like a maniac.  Soon, unconscious from the severe beating, Sam’s mother suffered her last at the hands of her monstrous spouse and the last thing Sam’s father saw was the moonlight shining off the blade of Sam’s sword as he killed him.

Mr Whitegate dragged the body to the local jail; ready to hand himself in for murder when he thought about his poor mother and how she would be alone in the world.  Leaving the body in the street, Sam returned home, got his mother in to bed and wrote her a letter explaining that he had to go away on business and that his father could not hurt her anymore.

He promised to keep her safe and left over half the money he had won betting on himself in the fighting pits to keep her comfortable until he could earn some more.  Sam Whitegate left town, never to return (even though he desperately wanted to see his beloved mother) and made a small living fighting in the gambling dens throughout the archipelago of Kira until one day, when he was twenty four summers old; a man named Grim watched one of his bouts.

Grim explained that he was hiring a crew for the Dread Pirate Daev, a notorious pirate, and thought that Sam had the makings of a useful crew member.  Eleven years later, now sailing in a boat called The Volunteer but still in the company of Grim and the Dread Pirate, Sam Whitegate had earned a healthy share of various riches, becoming one of the most reliable and dependable men the captain had known.

Acrobatic in the rigging, Sam was capable of impressive manoeuvres as a height that proved useful when sails came loose in a storm and he was most handy in a fight too.  He was good humoured and hard working; Sam soon became one of the most formidable pirates in all Cyralost and still writes home to his mother, sending small fortunes to make her even more comfortable.

His delighted parent believes her son to be a courier, of whom she was immensely proud of and was never to discover that what he delivered was highly illegal or that he was a wanted man on no less than twelve islands in the archipelago of Kira.


The Sylvan Scene in the Myradorn Room,

Imperial Palace, Mytharia Illidure (Former Capitol of Tenera)

In one of the more antiquated rooms of the imperial palace of Mytharia Illidure is a council chamber where lords, dukes, kings and emperors would gather to forge laws, form governments and hold court around a large table before the Myradorn, who would advise the better route of action to take, if possible; by revealing past mistakes and present events as they unfold.

Surrounding the table are twelve mighty statues of heroes that have been enspelled to defend the council and Myradorn if danger lurks near and were later made to attack any unwelcome visitors who could not answer three riddles; in the hope of deterring simple folk from using the Myradorn unnecessarily or dangerously (see The Chronicles of Tarkus or appendices for Sarin Elqar, Faye Hart, Jade Greymeadow, Urien Cook, Bajhaar Killsong, Ryker Dragonbane, Bryn Battlehammer, Gorda, Hapdrid Paintar, Nidri Harper; Sir George Wilson and Cage Sunspell [the broken statue]).

The council room is beautifully decorated with fluted columns that support a great domed ceiling that is painted with a spectacular sylvan scene, where a handsome king with a red beard and beautiful crown sits upon a mighty white war-horse; bedecked in the trappings of the Kingdom of Davix (one of the four kingdoms that were unified by the Emperor to make Tenera a single country).

The Davian King is hunting in the Vork Forest (which makes no sense as it is far from his own lands and would likely have caused a war if discovered, it is widely believed that this is down to artistic license on the painter’s part) and is closing in on a beautiful lady Centaur, who is depicted as enjoying the chase; though the legends suggest it was a grim ordeal.

The artist has neglected the fact that the Centaur was carrying the king’s daughter as she (the Centaur) was saving the princess from her father who had been told a prophecy foretold his death at the hands of his grandson and so was going to murder his daughter before she had the chance to fall in love.  If anyone is interested, the Centaur managed to save the princess and the king was indeed slain by his grandson (the son of an illegitimate son he sired in his youth whilst gallivanting abroad).

The picture shows the king wearing the Davian crown, a magnificent circlet of mythore that has a large garnet mounted at the front.  There are two small wings (one either side of the crown that rest above the ears) forged out of the same piece of precious metal that resemble tiny Angel wings, the feathers marked out in meticulous detail.

There are rumours in abundance that the circlet has magical powers, some tales claiming it casts a spell of swiftness whilst other stories suggesting it can summon birds or even Angels (let us hope that does not include you know who if this is true).

The Davian crown was lost during the hunt depicted in this sylvan scene and many have searched the Vork forest in hope of finding it, treasure hunters and Davian patriots have hunted throughout the area but even those with magical divination powers or even clerics with divine influence have failed to locate the crown thus far (they were, of course, all looking in the wrong place as it was not the Vork Forest that the hunt took place in).

There are many theories, but the truth of the matter is that the young princess (not shown in the picture) returned to the woodland with her Centaur companion and found the crown which she had a farrier melt down and form horse shoes which were applied to her friend’s hooves.  The farrier was paid with the garnet which made him wealthy and he used the excess fortune to fund a series of schools which became the arts, crafts and smiths’ community known today as ‘The Forge’.

The Centaur (who was called Myth) used the magical horseshoes to canter on the backs of many birds without hurting them as they flew over the sea to the island of Plor, where Aria (the princess) discovered the pirate caves and the hordes of treasure therein.  Among the treasure was a great crystal figurine that turned in to a boy when she touched it.  The boy was handsome and wise and the pair fell in love immediately.  Myth carried Aria and her future husband, Illidure, back to Tenera, calling forth Angels to carry the wealth that would forge a nation.



Fever-Fell, also known as ‘The Hateful Hammer’ is a great war-hammer of relatively simple design, a four foot haft of smooth; polished ironbark imbued with a strength spell to make it practically unbreakable and a good sized block of steel (the size of a Gnome) capped with a hammer head of mythore on each side.

The shaft is inscribed with runes of silver that shine against the black wood and hide the secret glyphs beneath that hold the hidden spells, many of which remain to be discovered.  The hammer’s head was forged in the fire of a dying Phoenix and washed in the tears of a Dragon, a rare occurrence that makes bitter-sweet magic of phenomenal capabilities.

The Hateful Hammer is a magnificent weapon in its own right, dangerous in strong hands (and it would take someone of impressive build to actually lift Fever-Fell) and its magic makes the barer very powerful, a terrible foe indeed.  It was Fever-Fell that smashed the foot of the Giant from Norsengar during the siege of Mytharia Illidure, causing the behemoth to fall and impale itself when disorientated by the Sky Rangers.

The Hateful Hammer, Fever-Fell was lost in that war and has not been seen since, though it is believed to have been spirited away by an Oark of Hoblin so is likely to have remained somewhere in Tenera.





The Wolf That Weeps

The light of the moons shimmers across the woodland path,

Filtered through the trees as the ~autumn leaves,

Crumple, scrunch and crackle, beneath the beast’s strides.

Reaching the clearing, it bounds up the hill,

Pausing at the crest with a paw raised, ears pricked,

Sniffing the air, it lifts its head to the night sky

And howls, a lonely sound at first, until the

Voice is joined by others in a choral tribute to the deities,

The darkness; the hunt and the hunger.

There is a sound, a scent, the rustle of leaves, Humans

(Elves would not make such a cacophony).

The wolf takes a step back, then leaps, onwards

In to the night, running like the wind in the light of the moons

And a great Elven star overhead, seen through the trees.

Then there is the scent like none ever known, a perfume

Of a creature not of this world (nor any other),

The Spirit Horse, with the great silvery mane,

Parted by a single ivory horn that shimmers like pearl,

Her eyes – full of oceans and eternity, emotions so

Profound that the wolf can not help but weep at her beauty,

He prostrates himself before her, crawling on his belly,

All pride forgotten in submission, offering himself

(And not knowing why, only that he must).

The Unicorn smells the steel and senses the hunters,

Bounds across the stream, in to the woods, in to the night

And the wolf follows, throughout winter and in to spring,

A joy a hope, never before believed, sorcery never conceived,

Running with the Unicorn until the fairytale fades.



Appendices for those who enjoy and appreciate my mythological world of Cyralost:





The Moons


The silver moon is the smallest of the four and the furthest away from Cyralost.  A lone eleighxander has been discovered (in the Temple of the Moons on the island of Rim in the archipelago of Kira) that leads to Hartol and opens out under a trilith of great rounded stones on an elevated mound at the centre of a small; solitary island (twenty feet across).

Surrounding the little island, as far as the eye can see in any direction, is a silver sea.  It is like any other sea in density, buoyancy and other aspects (salt content etc) and there has been no research that can discern why the water is silver, how it came to be so, there seems no purpose for its colour and no conclusive evidence about it what-so-ever; it has completely baffled alchemists and wizards alike.

It is possible that there is marine life and a ‘world’ comprised completely of water would most likely support many forms of life but none have been discovered as yet.  The eleighxander is too small to transport large vessels and the island that Hartol’s eleighxander resides on is not big enough to support the cargo required to build a big boat with, especially as the sloping gradients are so steep that materials keep rolling down in to the sea, which drops as soon as you step off the island; with no sea floor found so far.  Small rafts have been built and brave (or foolish) explorers have sailed off in to the silver sea but none have ever returned and nothing ever seems to wash up on the minute shore.

The silver water of Hartol has no magical properties (that have been discovered yet but there are those who believe there is magic in everything so the studies will no doubt continue) but strangely, the silver light of the moon in the night sky has been able to power certain spells and magical artefacts.

There is some debate as to whether the Moon Stones found in Starcadia actually come from Cyralost’s moons, considering no magical function has been found from the other three moons and the only sorcery produced by Hartol is from the light reflected from its silver sea by the sun.



The Moons


The green moon is the second largest and third furthest away from Cyralost.  Panishar shines in the night sky with a bright green light, almost like the sunlight shone through an emerald, and this is due to the moon being covered almost entirely by forest.  There are three known eleighxanders that lead to Panishar, one from Sorcerers’ Isle, one in the tea fields of Kiketra and one on Rim (at the Temple of the Moons); making Panishar the most visited and most explored (and well mapped) of Cyralost’s four moons.

The green moon is highly populated, with various animals and insects (the kind of which you would expect to find in wooded, forest and jungle terrain, one of which is a large cat called the Rash-pain Panther which is the only known native animal and whose venomous bite brings out a nasty purple rash that spreads and causes the limbs to wither).

There is an Elven colony, as one would almost expect in a place so densely populated with trees, that have self-appointed themselves as guardians of something they refer to as the moon’s ‘soul’ (much like the Druids of Cyralost who call the planet ‘Telluria’ and worship it’s ‘soul’).  The ‘soul’ the Elves of Panishar revere is actually a trapped tree spirit that was parted from his sister the Dryad when the realm of Faerie was attacked during the War of the Races and somehow brought to Panishar where one can only guess it was intended to do something special with the trees of this moon but was misplaced or forgotten before its release.

Panishar is also home to an Oarken colony, a tribe that found its way to Panishar shortly after they were changed in to the monsters they are today, following The Great Betrayal.  Having not had the contact and experience of Cyralost’s Oarken, these are bestial creatures, pure evil and ruthless beings that delight in cruelty.  The Elves and Oarken are not alone on the moon though as there are various Human settlements and a Slarth (Lizard-man) village as well as a variety of monsters that one would expect to find in these verdant surroundings.

The Human civilization on Panishar is a fairly recent enterprise and has met with a great deal of difficulty in its construction as the Elves are covetous of their tree spirit ‘soul’ and believe the Humans are after it (despite constant assurance that they are not, though they are extremely curious about it due to the extents the Elves go to in order to keep anyone from entering their territory) and the hostile Oarken are bent on destroying everything and everyone; not to mention (though I have now mentioned) the natural predators.

Every tree imaginable appears to be present on Panishar with the exception of Dendrids (Tree People) which is unusual and a shame, considering the forest community.  Perhaps the Dendrids have no knowledge of Panishar’s topography or know too much and purposely refrain from venturing there because of something they wish to avoid (one suspects the later as these ancient and venerable beings seem to know almost as much as Faezteaochaelon, the Giant turtle who is both oracle and Mistress of Lore.

There is still much to be discovered on the green moon and updated reports return to Cyralost fairly regularly, including a rumour of an ancient evil lurking in the caves west of the Oark Fort.

Sailors on Cyralost believe it is a good omen when the green moon’s light is the predominant moonshine on the sea.  The Druids refuse to comment on any discovery found on Panishar, claiming the moon was stolen from Telluria (what they call ancient Cyralost) hence the Open Ocean, which makes sense to some but is disregarded as mythology or the theology of ‘hippy zealots’.

All attempts to bring timber back to Cyralost from the trees felled on Panishar have met with strange accidents to date, a mystery that is being investigated to this day.  Some theories suggest the Druids are sabotaging efforts to bring back wood from the moon whilst others believe it is the will of the gods.  Who knows?



The Moons


The largest moon (which is also closest to Cyralost) is the scarlet moon, often referred to as the ‘Blood Moon’ or ‘Demon’s Eye’.  We know from reports of the few surviving explorers who discovered and ventured through the eleighxander that opens between the Temple of the Moons on Rim and the scarlet moon, Faeran; that the place is a hellish devastation that one would expect to find far below Nazdaelund.

Covered in volcanoes, molten rivers, land masses of red sand and seas of lava; Faeran’s air is often noxious and the terrain is exceptionally difficult to travel over.  Not much of this moon has been explored as the temperature there is scorching, hotter than most deserts and heat waves can roll across the land as the wind changes to burn the skin; sometimes so much as to blister.

In some areas, ash falls like snow and there is nowhere hospitable to stay for more than a night as the few inhabitants of Faeran, like an occasional Demon, a few Æfreeti that were misplaced after The Great Betrayal, Lava Monsters (for which no name has been given but varying descriptions report serpents or animals similar to bears forming out of the molten rivers and attacking) and Charcoal Hounds (large dogs that rise out of the black rock of the volcanoes and are exceptionally hard to kill as they are made of rock, so hammers are more useful than blades) are very hostile.

There is no sign of any settlement, no civilization unless underground, which is highly unlikely as it would be even hotter below the surface.  The light of the scarlet moon has often been misinterpreted by those who claim it is an ill omen, a bad sign, ‘there will be blood’ etc.  Complete nonsense and coincidental if poor fate has followed such an auger, it is no more magical than a donkey’s bottom.

Samples of rock and similar from Faeran have made high prices from those wishing to research its properties (and bloody right too, considering the danger and discomfort involved acquiring it!) but nothing magical has been discovered within these to date.



The Moons


This moon is the second smallest and second nearest to Cyralost, a desert moon that shines golden in the night sky (a light that tricksters and conmen use to illuminate certain products at night to sell to desperate and gullible customers who are led to believe all kinds of nonsense.  The light of the moon is the only thing golden about it and a curious phenomenon as the sands of the deserts there are more grey and brown than golden yellow, some resembling dry baked soil more than sand; though nothing grows there.

There was some civilization on Angar at one point in time as powerful scrying spells have revealed structures that resemble pyramids built by the lost tribe on the Island of Secrets and not dissimilar to those built by the barbarians in the Eastern Wastes of Tenera and other remote areas.

There are also statues and a dried up canal system but no more is known as yet.  Considering the fact that there was a civilization there at some point in time, there must also have been animal life to sustain it but no one knows what it may have been or if it still lives there.  It is possible that there is still life on Angar as some things thrive in the most inhospitable terrain one can imagine, especially if magical.  Experts suspect certain insects (beetles in particular), serpents and perhaps rodents may still be present but there is no conclusive evidence.

No eleighxander has been reported opening to Angar and the one in the Temple of the Moons on Rim has never worked as the Temple was attacked during the ceremony that opened these void avoiding portals and the worshipers (whoever they may have been, there is little record of the temple’s purpose or any religion surrounding it and no recognised faith on Cyralost has laid claim to it) were scattered or slain.  Any worshipers of the religion that built the Temple of the Moons on Rim have either gone in to hiding and kept their faith secret all these centuries or adopted another set of beliefs and allowed the strange moon related religion to fade in to obscurity (quick note, it is also unknown who attacked the temple or why and only the skeletons and broken statues or relics to show that any of this occurred in the first place).

Needless to say (but I shall say it anyway), steer clear of anyone trying to sell you  the ‘Magical Sands of Angar’ and maybe point out that it is the wrong colour.  Scrying remains the only way to view this moon’s surface at present and it would take a very powerful mage to see that far.






Writing Prompt No. #7

In case I am unable to return again for a while, I thought I would leave you with another writing prompt (I haven’t done one for a while and thouroughly enjoyed everyone’s efforts to the last lot).  Baldy-prompt number seven is:


The Wolf and Moon Magic



Good luck, remember to have fun!  Send me a link if possible and/or send a comment to let me know if you have had a stab at this as you know how I love to reblog and promote you all!  Keep smiling and keep writing, best wishes from Baldy 🙂


The piano plays a ballad,
Slender fingers grace the keys,
The soft accompaniment of
The acoustic guitar,
Strumming an orgasm
To the candles.
The magic of the music,
Shrouds the atmosphere,
Like an old comfortable blanket,
As a spectrum fades on a wine glass.
The rhythm of my breathing is
Like the river of my emotions,
Erratic and dramatic,
A child lies beneath your heart,
In the dream-time
And I take a step over the edge,
In to forever as tears streak,
My painted mask.
The heart of mother is broken,
Words are wordless
As the sign writer paints out the sky.


Final stab at Sreejit Poole’s Dungeon Prompt: Chaos
This one was popular on the first blog, I hope it has a similar impact. Best wishes from Baldy 🙂