I’m sitting in my bunk looking over my notes so far and listening to Arenaria play a nonsense tune on her jongo when we hear a sudden burst of gunfire. Everyone’s head snaps up and turns toward the sound, but when we soon relax when silence returns to the jungle outside. Gina lies back down and mutters something in Tenrec as she turns onto her side, while Arenaria resumes her noodling. Ulonan is sitting on the bunk next to Gina’s sharpening his knife, while up above me Janusz clicks and taps away at his laptop.
Murgha Durandeet was up before dawn, as usual. She got ready for the day by the light of a single candle, shivering in the cold of the early morning. Though at this hour the sun was only a faint glow on the western horizon, outside the thick walls of her family’s mud-brick house she could hear the chirping of birds layered over the rasping grunts of the livestock in their pen.
They are forgotten. They stand in the jungle, crumbled and decayed, worn and cracked by that very same impenetrable tangle of trees that has kept them secret for so many thousands of years. They are the Houses of Stone.
The sun shone bright and cold over the northern plains, giving little heat at this boreal latitude. To the southwest the LeBeau Mountains loomed, their snowy caps shining a blinding white. Great herds of animals roamed the plains, gorging on the local plant life, building up energy reserves for their long migration south.
The woman came to Gingloa at the head of an army, riding under the banner of House Agares. Though the majority of the army remained outside the city to set up camp, the message was clear: whatever the woman was here for, they would be wise not to deny her. As she rode down the central street accompanied by a retinue of mounted soldiers, the people stopped to watch her pass. Whoever she was, she was very wealthy. She wore a hauberk of steel maille over a knee-length crimson aketon, and over that her armor was thick scales of gilt steel worked in the shape of feathers. Pinned to her shoulders was a cloak of crimson silk. Her pointed helm with its long nasal guard was steel, and at its peak were fastened three red feathers of command. A fringe of steel scales hung from her helm to cover her face and neck, but as she looked across the upturned faces of the townsfolk they could see she had the olive skin and dusky eyes of the Garanic tribes of the central Markheb. Her mighty gergedat was caparisoned in red silk, with its horns and snout sheathed in steel and its rounded frill draped in scales of bronze. Behind her rode her standard bearer, and from his ornate staff hung a crimson gonfalon with a man riding a bora with a bird of prey perched upon his fist.
You’ve probably seen this already, but I just realized I never posted it on Tyrant King, so today I’m rectifying that. So here’s my Gondolendian ghukumatzlus painting I did for the back cover of Hunting Ground and Other Stories:
Because no one demanded it, here’s round two of my terrible, non-canon Gondolend short fiction!
I can remember looking out of the window at the deep blue of the Pacific far below me. It stretched for as far as the eye could see in every direction, my view being occasionally interrupted by a wisp of cloud, but otherwise unobstructed. The sense of insignificance that I felt compared to the vastness of the ocean had been with me since I had left San Diego a couple days prior. I had changed planes first in Hawaii, and then in American Samoa, where I boarded a sleek looking white and blue seaplane, and was en route to my destination, the island of Lautokamanu. Read More
Just for fun, I decided to start a thread in the Gondolend board of the Tyrant King forums for writing terrible short vignettes, often with exaggerated or wildly out of character behavior and none of them canon. I’ve had a lot of fun writing these stupid things, so I thought I’d share mine on here.