I am starting a new blog. It will have all the old content up there but will be waaaaaaay more easyable to navigate.

http://samsbitsandpieces.wordpress.com/

New Music for your Ears

Have a listen to some of the new music that is in the recently released Starcraft 2 game. I've always been very impressed by the music in all Blizzard games. The Echoes of War cd was amazing, combining music taken from Diablo, Warcraft and Starcraft.

New Blog

I've started up a new blog here. Planning on making it an episodic story but be warned...it's going to be a little bit nerdy :D

Debts of Little Gods

Sarah stepped out in the morning air and shivered. Fog still hung near the ground and the grass was a crisp white. She pulled her coat around herself and set out. These short fifteen-minute walks to work were getting near unbearable. Winter was only beginning and already the nights dropped well below zero and the mornings weren’t much better. Even with five layers on, she could still feel the gentle fingers of Jack Frost caressing her skin.

But it was definitely better than it had been. Before she had bought this new house right on the edge of the city, she had to walk close to an hour every morning. That meant less sleep, more cold and almost frostbitten fingertips. Fifteen minutes was not intolerable if she looked at it like that.

As her quick footsteps took her away from her house and into the city outskirts, the buildings began to loom above her. Two, three and four storey buildings blocked out the weak morning sun and the temperature dropped another couple of degrees.

“Do you have a moment, miss?”

Sarah jerked her head up, looking around towards the source of the unexpected voice. She had been trying to curl into a ball while still walking and had not even noticed that someone else shared the footpath with her.

The man was sitting on the ground, back against the worn bricks. He wore shorts, t-shirt and a huge smile. He held a guitar across his lap, fingers absently dancing across the strings but making no sound that Sarah could hear.

“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked in astonishment, her words forming white clouds as they escaped her lips.

“Nah,” the man said around his smile. “It might be cause my body is numb though. Doesn’t really matter though.”

“Doesn’t matter? I doubt it’s even one degree out here.” Sarah glanced forwards. A few blocks away, she could make out the outline of Thompson and Associates. She really couldn’t stay here talking with this homeless man or she would be late. Mr Thompson was not the type of person to take any excuses for tardiness.

But then again, she wasn’t exactly the person who would let a man freeze to death just because she would be late for work.

“If you want a coat, I think I have an old one back at home…”

“That’s a fine offer,” the man interrupted, “But I’m not in need of a coat. I don’t need anything from you but,” here he held up a finger, “you could use a thing or two from me, I think.”

“What?” Sarah cupped her hands in front of her face and blew her hot breathe into them. She could feel her cheeks going red with the chill of the air. Obviously, this man was homeless and crazy. Nothing she could do for him. “Look, sorry, but I have to go.”

She took a few cautious steps away, half imagining the man jumping up and trying to smite her with his guitar. Instead, he just sat there, fingers gliding over the strings and smiling up at her.

She took a couple more backwards steps and then turned around. Sarah told herself that she was just hurrying to work, nothing else.

The few blocks to Thompson and Associates few beneath her feet. Before she knew it, she laid her hand on the glass door and pushed it open. The rush of heated air felt like heaven after the freezing cold outside. Sarah stepped inside and let the door close on the outside world.

Minutes turned into hours, which turned into meetings and faxes and reports. The day flew by without her even realising it.

Once again, Sarah pressed her hand onto the glass door, this time pulling it open. The sunset was settling in over the city, the last rays of light shining over the buildings. The cooling air hit her bare skin, tingling the last vestiges of air-conditioned warmth away.

The streets were full of people going home from work, either walking or driving their cars. The noise of dozens of people politely ignoring each other was loud on her ears. Sarah pulled her coat tight around herself and joined the flow of people heading towards the city outskirts.

She felt him step up next to her before she heard him speak.

“I was serious. You could use some help.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him. He was still dressed in shorts and t-shirt and a smile. He carried his guitar under one arm.

“Are you following me? Get away!” Sarah’s raised voice caused a few people to look at over at her.

The man held up a hand in apology. “Sorry, I don’t mean to scare you. It’s just that…

“You want to help me. Stay away!” Once again, people in the flowing crowd looked over at her, unspoken questions in their eyes but not one of them said a word.

The man seemed to take the hint and stepped away from her, melting away into the crowd. As she hurried away, she took a look around but failed to see him. She let go of the breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

She drifted along, thoughts of the man flying out of her head.

* * *

He watched her go. She definitely didn’t want his help. He had asked her twice and twice she had refused. That was bound to be enough to live up to the agreement. He pressed a hand back against the brick wall behind him. Without a thought, or more precisely, the thought of absence and nothing, he slipped into the real world.

The colour seemed to bleed out of the world, turning everything into a dull grey. The sky, the buildings, the walking people, all of it became a bland and monotonous to his eyes.

Everything but the doorway across the street.

Every time he came up here, the entrances and exits changed. The only thing that was similar between them was the golden glow they gave off into the tedious grey world of humanity.

He walked across the street, weaving in and out of the moving flocks of people and dodging moving cars. With a sigh of relief, he pushed through the golden door and stepped through into the colour beyond. So bright and vibrant compared to the tediousness of the city, the Otherside was a welcome sight to his eyes. The tall spiral buildings of pulsing blue stone, the swaying purple and red trees, and the diverse people going about their various businesses.

Yes, it was good to be back.

“Have you completed the task, Apollo?”

He rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. I went there as you asked and told her that I was there to help her but she’d have none of it. Duty done.”

A huge hand reached down from above, the long claws digging into Apollo’s shoulder and pulling him upwards onto his toes. The fabric of his t-shirt ripped under the pressure from his assailant’s sharp claws. His typical smile curved into a grimace.

“Let me go, will you? No need for that!”

Poseidon lowered his face so that it was on level with Apollo’s, his huge dripping beard draping over the smaller man’s shoulders. “Go back and do what I told you too!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it!” Apollo pulled away from the gripping hand. He turned around. “So demanding all the time,” he muttered under his breath as he walked back through the golden door. “Don’t know how I’ve lived so long with him.”

* * *

Sarah woke with a start, jerking upright in her bed. Her room was pitch black but she could sense that she wasn’t alone.

“About time. You were really out of it.”

A scream ripped itself from her throat, a wordless cry of fear and panic. Thoughts rocketed through her mind. How could someone get in here? What does he want? Please don’t hurt me! Take anything you want! Someone help me! Why me? Why does his voice sound familiar?

The scream ended with Sarah breathing out the words, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah. So you recognise my voice. Then you’d know I’m here to help you.”

Sarah stared down towards the foot of her bed, from where the man’s voice was coming from. Her eyes searched frantically for him but there was not even a scrap of light to aid her. Somehow this strange man had broken into her house and was here for…some reason…

“Why?” she managed between short, panicked gasps.

“I already told you.” Was it her imagination or did he just sigh. “This is three times I’ve told you. Back in the old days, we only gave you one chance but here I am. I can’t say I like how the times have changed but you can’t be stuck in the past, or at least that’s what Hera is always saying.”

His monologue made no sense to her but it gave time for her anger to rise to the surface. It overlaid her fear, not banishing it, just covering it.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” She screamed.

The lights snapped on, blinding Sarah. She jerked up an arm to cover her eyes. Slowly, she peeled open her eyelids and lowered her arm. Before her, standing at the open door to her room with one hand on the light switch and the other gripping the neck of his guitar, stood the man she had met in the street. In the light, he didn’t look threatening at all. He was skinny, dressed in ripped clothes and with a huge, innocent smile plastered all over his face.

But still, he had broken into her house at some godless hour in the night for some insane reason.

She reached over and grabbed her mobile phone from the dresser. She punched in three numbers and held it up to her face.

“No, no, no,” he held up his hands. “You don’t have to call the police. I’m here to help you, Sarah!”

Sarah clenched her doona close to her. “Police! There is someone…”

“Enough!” The man’s smile evaporated to be replaced with a scowl. From one second, he went from being a ridiculous looking intruder to a frightening visage of rage. He snapped his fingers and Sarah’s phone gave out a crackling sound. It grew hot in her hand, causing her to throw it away on reflex. She looked on in horror as it started to smoke on the floor.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“I am sick of this. This is just not like the old days.” The man took a step away from the door and Sarah looked up with wide eyes at him. “He wants me to help you so I’m going to help you. You,” he raised an accusing finger to point it at her, “need help and I am going to give it to you.”

Once again, she opened her mouth and, once again, no sound emerged.

“You are going to die, Sarah. You are going die tomorrow and only I can help you.”

* * *

He sat at the small table in her kitchen, watching Sarah as she nursed a cup of tea in both of her hands. She seemed to have gotten past all the anger and fear and was sitting just sitting there in utter disbelief. Back in the old days when he had appeared before people, they would have fallen on their knees and hung on his every word. Civilisation and society and science had brought about such emptiness within everyone. Humans were not what they once were.

Apollo looked at the woman sitting across from him. He had absolutely no idea why Poseidon wanted her saved. He could see nothing special within her, though no doubt that big bully had his reasons. The likelihood of those reasons being shared with him was about as likely as snow surviving in the desert.

“How?” She didn’t look up at him, rather just stared into the murky water in her cup as if it would give some divine answers.

“You will be crossing the road tomorrow and a car will come out of nowhere. You will be hit. The ambulance will come but you will bleed out on the way there.”

“How do you know this?” She still didn’t look up at him.

The answer to that question was something he doubted she had enough wits to comprehend. How would he explain the Otherside and its connection to Earth? How would he explain its inhabitants and how time was not something that affected them as it did humanity? How would he explain exactly what time was? How would he explain who he was?

Sometimes, it is best to simplify things.

“I see the future, Sarah. I’ve been sent here by…a friend who wants to see you live. I can give you signs, if you desire?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He picked up his guitar and placed it across his lap. Softly, he started to pick the strings. The sounds that came out where not within a frequency that her ears would be able to hear, but Apollo heard them well enough. He wove together the strands of music in the air, binding them into long cords. He changed the tune of the song and sent the cords out around the room. He could see Sarah looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.

He sent the cords of sound into the walls of the kitchen and began to bring his song to a conclusion. As the notes and chords rose to a climax, the sound began to have a visible effect on the room around them. The walls started to shimmer and fade into transparency. He could see tall mountains through them, their snow capped peaks rising high into the blue sky. Green forests grew up their slopes, covering the roots of the mountains under their leafy foliage. High above all of this, an eagle cried out as it floated on the unseen wind.

The song ended and the walls returned to their solid state.

Apollo put down his guitar and looked at Sarah. Her mouth was wide open and wonder and disbelief was written all over her face.

“All you have to do is stay home tomorrow and you will be safe,” he said. “Time will loop around this event and you’ll be able to live to whatever destiny you were saved for.”

Sarah looked over at him and just nodded. He gave her a smile. She was definitely going to stay home tomorrow.

* * *

The alarm clock buzzed at her but she made no move to get up. Today was the day that she was meant to die. Today was the day that she would be saved.

She pulled the covers of her doona over her head.

* * *

Apollo walked through the golden door and gave a sigh. It really took it out of him, working such feats amongst the humans. He looked up at the figure that loomed over him.

“It’s done.”

The long, wet beard shock as Poseidon laughed. “Good, good. You have been most helpful. She shall serve her fate now.”

Apollo waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. I don’t care. Just tell me that we are even now?”

A clawed hand patted Apollo on the back, sending him stumbling forward. “We are even, little god.”

As he moved off, Apollo muttered under his breath, “That’s the last time I gamble with him.”

Werewolf and the Witcher

Sitting atop his black horse, his steady breathing turning to mist in the cold night air, Amon gently stroked his chin with one hand as he pondered the sight before him. His other hand was lightly grasped around the hilt of the thin rapier that hung from his belt, the sheathed blade hidden under the many folds of his pitch-black cloak. The breeze that blew around the widely spaced trees danced across the spectacle of death to play gently with Amon’s cloak.

Debris from the two wagons had been scattered across the snow-covered road, the majority of which were iron goods. Amon guessed the men and women had been merchants bringing goods to the nearby town. They must have travelled a long distance across dangerously open country, for the town of Colby was the only settlement for miles.

Amon brushed a stray strand of his long black hair away from his face. To have come so far, only to find death waiting for them a couple of miles away from the safety of Colby’s stonewalls.

He gently urged his horse to step across the road, through the savaged bodies of men, women and horses. The tracks that he had been following were clear to see in the snow, making there way away from the murdered merchants. Amon prodded his horse’s flanks with his heels, causing it to break into a high-legged trot through the deep snow. He left behind him the torn and broken bodies to be buried under the gently falling snow.

Trees flowed past steadily as Amon pursued his prey. Always, he kept one hand on the rapier and a constant lookout for anything that might mark that he was almost upon his quarry.

Even so, his constantly roving eyes were only just able to see the grey blur that flew out from its hiding place behind the rotting remains of a fallen tree. With lightning quick reflexes, Amon threw himself from his horse’s saddle onto the snowy ground. Even as he was falling, the grey blur flew through the space above the horse that ht had occupied only moments before. In the pale moonlight that filtered through the leafless branches of the trees, he could see the faint glimmer of long claws.

As he hit the ground, Amon was already drawing his rapier from its sheath. His eyes watched the creature land some feet away, snarling softly in annoyance that the surprise attack had failed to dispatch Amon. As Amon knew it would, the massive wolf-like creature turned only slowly and regarded Amon with eyes far to intelligent for a simple animal. There was a hatred that burned deep in those red eyes that only thinking, reasoning creatures could achieve.

Amon raised himself slowly onto his feet, both of his legs sinking halfway up to his knees in the snow. He held out his thin rapier before his body, pointing it directly at the grey furred creature before him. Behind him, the black horse had stopped as soon as it felt its rider fall off. Years of training had taught it many things, such as to ignore the scent of blood and the even more distressing smell of werewolves.

“I knew you’ve been following me for days now,” growled the werewolf, the words forming awkwardly in its wolf-like mouth.

Amon watched the beast cautiously. With his legs sunken into the snow, the wolf head was about level with his neck. With his movements so restricted by the snow, he would have to be careful if he wanted keep his throat in one piece. Instead of replying, he carefully moved the fingers of the hand not holding the rapier, gently feeling the object that was strapped to his wrist.

“Did you see those pathetic humans on the road? You should have heard them scream as I tore them apart,” the werewolf taunted. “I can still taste their blood!” As if to illustrate its point, it opened its mouth to show its red-coated fangs.

Hand now ready to grasp the hidden object up his sleeve, Amon replied. “You knew I was following you and yet you ran away. Can it be that you’re a coward?”

The werewolf took a small step forward, snarling its hatred. “You know nothing!”

Amon’s own lips curled back in a sneer as he tensed for the werewolves leap. For a couple of long, silent seconds, they stood only a few feet apart, one coiling for the leap and the other tensing to receive it. If there had been anyone around to witness this standoff, they would have seen that Amon’s eyes too shone with hatred as intense as his enemies.

The seconds dragged by and still they both did nothing. Amon was the one to break the silence. “What are you waiting for, beast? To cowardly to face a single human?” he goaded.

The werewolves face twitched at the insult but he did not leap. “You are nothing, Witcher!” it snarled suddenly. With a turn of speed faster than any horse, the werewolf turned and sped away through the night, leaving Amon standing there.

He relaxed the muscles that he had been tensing, taking his hand away from his cloak sleeve and putting his rapier back into its sheath. He dragged his way through the snow and over to his waiting horse. Slinging himself back into the saddle, he quickly found himself once again following the fresh tracks made by a werewolf in wolf-form.

The minutes floated by as Amon’s horse trotted along the trail, Amon sitting straight-backed in the saddle, cloak flowing out behind him. His eyes constantly roved the moving landscape, ready for the werewolf if it should be lying in another ambush.

Eventually, he emerged from beneath the trees at the foot of a sudden hill. At the top of the steep rise, its cold stonewalls shining in the silver moonlight, was the town of Colby.

Amon cursed softly under his breath, for the tracks that he had been following led straight up the hill towards the town. Even worse, the tracks had changed from giant paw prints into human-shaped footprints.

He ran an angry hand through his long hair, wet from the slow fall of snowflakes. If the werewolf were able to get into the town, then finding it would become even more difficult. A werewolf in human-form was nearly impossible to differentiate from any other human. By the looks of it, Colby was home to hundreds of people.

Cursing again, Amon kicked his horse into a gallop up the slope. As he closed in with the high walls, he could see the footprints going straight up to the stone and disappearing. A wall like this would prove only a slight barrier to a creature with the strength of a werewolf. Amon turned away from the tracks and followed the wall around the perimeter of the town until he came to the town gates.

As was the sensible custom, the gates were closed at night. As was also the way, Amon could see a couple of heads close together as the guards kept ‘watch’ on the gate. Even the sound of Amon’s horse galloping up to the gate hadn’t distracted the two individuals from whatever they were doing to pass the time on this cold night.

“Open the gate!” shouted Amon.

To his immense satisfaction, the two guards jumped up and he could see the petrified expressions on their faces at the sudden voice from below. They both leaned over the stone and looked down at Amon sitting on his black steed.

“Who…who are you?” one of them managed to say, his eyes wide at seeing the black-dressed man at the gate in the dead of the night.

“My name is Amon and I am here to save your miserable lives. Now open the gate and take me to whoever is in charge of the town.” He paused to let this sink in before adding, “There is a werewolf in your town.”

The two men’s reactions were a combination of sheer disbelief and utter terror. Doubtless, they had heard of the many tales of werewolves.

“Who…how did…what?” came the stuttering reply.

Amon glared angrily upwards at the men standing on the top of stonewalls. Men such as these blubbering idiots were one of the reasons that he felt happier the further he was from human inhabitation. They lived behind their solid walls, thinking themselves safe because of their numbers. Men and women such as Amon, who lived their solitary, purpose-driven lives, were scorned as hardly better than the vile creatures that they hunted. However, when those cowering people were threatened, they were so stupid that they didn’t even know what to do. It was always up to the despised individuals under the label of Witchers that had to save the clueless and thankless majority.

“I am a Witcher and I have come to kill the werewolf. Now open the gate before I knock it down!”

This time the reply was not so passive. The initial shock of Amon’s voice was being replaced by anger at being caught slacking at their posts. “You think that we would let someone as evil as you into the town? You bloody Witchers are as bad as the vermin you kill!”

Amon glared upwards. He had been subject to insults much worse, but it was still hard to contain his anger. “This still doesn’t negate the fact there is a werewolf loose in your town.”

The two guards gave each other a quick glance. Because Witchers were despised so, it wasn’t very often one ventured near human inhabitation. If they did, it was normally because they were tracking their prey. With this thought on their minds, they disappeared from the wall top with the intention of letting Amon in. As they saw it, a Witcher was a good person to have around when there was a possibility of a werewolf running amuck. That way, they could both kill each other and ordinary people could go on living their lives with two less evils in the world.

It did not take long for one half of the solid wood gate to swing open. Amon dismounted from his horse and led it through into the town of Colby.

As soon as he was through, the two guards pushed the gate closed again, lowering a huge wooden bar into place and locking it shut. Once this task was done, they stood side by side, looking worriedly at the man who they had just let into their town.

Amon didn’t look back behind him at the guards. Instead, he cast his gaze slowly over the buildings of Colby. From where he was standing, he could already tell that the town had been built very haphazardly, with the streets curling between buildings of diverse sizes.

“So,” Amon said over his shoulder, “Who is in charge of this town?”

“Mayor Fulton,” volunteered one of the guards rather hastily.

“Okay, led the way to his house,” Amon said, gesturing with one hand that the guards should move.

The men moved swiftly through the winding streets, occasionally casting their eyes over their shoulders at the black-clothed figure pulling his horse that was following them. One thing that Amon noticed was the lack of light, their way only being lit by the moonshine. In cities and towns, even small villages, that was closer to the Desolation, lamps always shone in the streets. The more light there was, the less shadows were available to hide in. However, Colby provided dark alleyways between most houses and the potential of hundreds of dark corners in which the werewolf could hide. To Amon’s eye, these people were utterly unprepared for the world that they lived in.

He was finally brought to a large house made of white stone. The two men looked both anxiously at Amon, perhaps wondering what he would do now, and out into the dark streets. Amon gave a small smile. They had just realised what could be hiding in any one of those dark alleys.

Leaving the guards to worry alone on the street, Amon dropped the reins of his horse, stamped his way up the steps to the door and knocked loudly upon it with a closed fist.

“Wake up!” shouted Amon. “Wake up!”

For a full minute, he banged against the door until it was at last flung open by a large, balding man in his nightclothes.

“Who the heck are you?” growled the man, hastily blinking sleep out of his eyes. “What on earth do you want? Don’t you know what hour it is?” The man’s eyes drifted past Amon and caught sight of the two guards standing in the street. “Dale, Warren, what are you two up too?”

Dale and Warren ducked their heads under the sleepily angry gaze. “Sorry, Mr Fulton, but…”

“You have a werewolf in your town,” cut in Amon, going straight for the heart of the matter.

The mayor’s eyes were drawn back to Amon’s utterly serious face. “A what?” he exclaimed.

“A werewolf,” repeated Amon.

Mayor Fulton rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes. “A werewolf?”

“Yes.” Amon bite down on his tongue so as not to say something that the fat idiot in front of him would take as offensive. Though he didn’t need any help that this man or any of the townsfolk could provide, he felt that he should warn them about the threat in their midst. There didn’t have to be any more victims like those of the merchant convey.

“And who might you be, sir? You’re not from this town, and because both Dale and Warren are standing behind you, this must mean you’ve come through the gate. Who are you, a stranger, to tell us such things?” The mayor’s eyes looked Amon up and down, taking in the hand resting on the rapier hilt and haggard but confident face. Mayor Fulton answered his own question. “A Witcher? That must mean that there is…” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening at the unfinished thought.

“A werewolf in your town,” finished Amon. “You must make sure that all of your citizens are safe. I mean to hunt the beast down and destroy it.”

Instead of cowering away from the frightful Witcher standing in front of him as Amon expected him too, the mayor straightened his back to stand his full height, which was still half a head shorter than Amon.

“Now, you look here. I thank you for your warning, sir, but as the mayor of Colby, I do not condone your kind running around my town. We have a problem and it shall be we, the men of Colby that deal with it, not you.” Once again, Mayor Fulton’s eyes moved over to take in the two guards. “Now, Dale, Warren, I want you to go to the house of every strong man. I want all of them to assemble in the town square. Go!”

Amon could hear the two guardsmen run off into the dark.

“You know what you have just done?” asked Amon in a quiet voice.

“I am going to purge this town of that evil creature. Now, thank you for your warning but I’d like you to leave Colby. Your kind is not welcome here!” With that, Mayor Fulton shut the door in Amon’s face.

“What you have done is sentence your townsmen to an unpleasant death.”

He stepped back down the steps and took up the reins of his horse again. “They may not want my help,” he whispered to it, “but without it, they will all die. They know nothing of the danger they are facing.”

He gently led his horse down the street a ways, around the corner from the mayor’s house. Already, he could hear the sound of doors being slammed and feet running in the streets as Dale and Warren woke the town with the news of a werewolf and their mayor’s summons.

Amon found a dead end alley and led his horse into it. “I’ll be back when its dead,” he whispered to the horse.

Knowing what the werewolf would most likely be thinking, he headed towards the growing sound of men talking and shouting. It took him several minutes to navigate through the winding streets until he found a route that took him to the town square. On the way there, men armed with an assortment of weaponry raced past him. Whenever a person drew close, he would shift into the deep shadows and wait for them to pass.

When he did eventually make it to the edge of the town square, Amon stayed in the shadows of the edge. In a single glance, he took in the mass of men of all ages, some holding blazing torches and others holding rusty swords or axes meant for chopping wood. It was a rabble. In the middle of milling crowd, he could hear the voice of the mayor, who was probably giving some inspirational speech.

Turning his head away from the crowd, Amon stared carefully into the numerous shadows that flickered in the orange firelight of the mobs torches. He had little doubt that the werewolf knew about the gathering towns people and would not be able to resist itself from coming to stare over so many potential victims.

The minutes ticked slowly by in Amon’s head and as he continued to observe the shadows, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The mass of men was starting to break up, splintering into dozens of small groups that headed in all different directions. Amon’s lips curled at the stupidity of the mayor and the sheep that followed him. Now the werewolf had dozens of small targets to attack and he could not protect them all.

People were going to die tonight.

As the town square emptied of all people, Amon leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. Instead, he concentrated on the sounds that he could hear. Sooner or later, the werewolf would reveal its presence and Mayor Fulton would suffer the consequences.

He could hear the faint rush of the wind through the avenues of Colby and the rustle of the distant army of trees. Above these were the footsteps and voices of the townsmen as the hunted the night. They were like kids doing a man’s job, little chance to of actually accomplishing the feat and likely to come to grief.

Suddenly, cutting through the night air, came the sound an alarmed cry, which was abruptly cut short.

Amon opened his eyes and raced off in the direction from which the sound had come. He no longer kept to the shadows but instead raced down the middle of the streets, skidding around corners with his black cloak whipping out behind him. He ran past several men, most of who were looking the direction that Amon was heading. They blinked in surprise as the black clad man past them.

He only slowed down when he came upon a man heaving up his guts on the street, obviously not looking down the alleyway, from which Amon’s nose could smell the sickly aroma of blood. He walked straight into the alley and took in the scene presented before him.

Three men lay in various unnatural positions, all pooling in blood as it leaked from their ravaged bodies. The huge claw marks across the men’s faces and chests were the unmistakable mark of a werewolf, whose steel-like claws could carve through bone with ease.

Another man stood in the middle of the bodies, blood on his hands. He looked up at Amon with white-faced terror.

“Why?” he managed to ask in a strangled voice.

“Ask your mayor,” Amon replied simply.

Amon moved over to one of the murdered men and knelt down. He surveyed the huge rents across the face, almost completely obliterating any facial features that the man had once possessed. Carefully, he took one finger and touched a stream of dripping blood that was still flowing freely from those same wounds. In an act that so repulsed the white-faced man that he turned around and lost the fight to keep the contents of his stomach down, Amon poked out his tongue and placed a drop of the dead man’s blood on it.

It was dark methods such were the reason that Witchers were so reviled. Witchers justified the use of such dark powers by the results that they produced but to ordinary people, it seemed that they were becoming the very evil that they were destroying.

Whether it be evil or not, Amon knew that blood called out to blood. In his mind, he could sense the blood on his tongue crying out to the pool at his feet and some on a moving object not far in front of him. Without a doubt, that would be the blood that was even now dripping from the werewolf’s claws and fangs.

Standing up, Amon raced off in the direction which he had sensed the werewolf. He flew through the night like an angry spirit, eager to end the hunt once and for all. He would occasionally see a bloody paw print on the paving, confirming his choice of direction.

A second time in the course of a couple of minutes, a terrified shout carried through the night.

Amon rushed around one more corner to see the huge shape of the werewolf in wolf-form slowly padding away from him towards a group of about a dozen men, one of whom was Mayor Fulton. The men were holding various implements in their shaking hands, from burning torches to gardening forks, even a rusty looking sword. The softly growling werewolf saw no threat and was taking its time over the kill, first utterly petrifying the men with its blood stained fur.

Amon didn’t hesitate. He slipped the knife free of the straps hold it to his wrist and threw it through the air.

The werewolf must have heard Amon’s rushed approach for it took the time to look over its shoulder. Amon could see its red hated-filled eyes take in his unmistakable figure and then widen sharply as it saw the rapidly approaching dagger, its silver blade flashing in the moonlight.

The dagger slammed into one of the werewolf’s hind legs, penetrating right up to the hilt. The razor sharp edge sliced through muscle and flesh and the werewolf’s hindquarters slumped uselessly to the ground, unable to keep its enormous weight supported on just one leg.

The massive jaws opened and the creature howled its pain into the night sky. Not only had Amon crippled it, but also the silver blade caused immense pain. Silver burned a werewolf on touch and the blade inside the beast was even now burning its insides like fire.

Amon followed up the dagger with a headlong rush towards the howling creature, drawing his rapier smoothly. As he came close to the creature, it made a fumbling attempt to tear him apart with the bloodied claws on one of its front legs. Amon neatly sidestepped away from the flailing limb and sent his rapier stabbing through the now vulnerable werewolf’s throat.

The silver coated edge of the rapier blade was specially made for killing werewolves. It bit deeply into the flesh, Amon’s powerful arm jerked backwards, carving the unholy creatures flesh, completely severing the beast’s windpipe. Black blood spurted everywhere as the werewolf started to convulse in a jerky death dance.

Amon brought his feet to a stop and turned around to watch the final throes. After a minute, the body finally became still in an ever-expanding pool of unnatural black blood. He heard a few sighs coming from behind him from the gathered townsmen. Amon, however, kept watch on the body, knowing what was going to happen next.

Slowly at first, the fur and skin began to melt off the body and fall to the ground. There it swiftly disintegrated and became dust. More and more of the creature fell away onto the ground and the dust piles grew until all that was left was a human-looking body, with a dagger in its leg and its neck cut open.

The breaths that had just been released were swiftly sucked back in.

Amon knew that the assembled townsmen behind him and the ever-gathering number of people who had rushed to the scene were watching him. They were waiting for him to say something, to make some remark. He felt their eyes on him, terrified at how easily he had slain such an unnatural killing machine. He could almost hear the thoughts swirling in the people’s minds, starting to blame him already for the deaths of naïve townsmen.

Once again, he moved swiftly. He placed the still bloody rapier back into its scabbard and moved forward to collect the dagger out of the dead werewolf’s leg, which he replaced in the sheath hidden up his sleeve.

Then he simply trotted away into the dark streets, back to where he had left his horse. At first he felt the gazes on his back but they slowly faded away as he entered areas of the town that weren’t filled with members of the werewolf hunt.

Amon lifted himself onto his horse and kicked it into a gallop, not slowing until he had reached the gate. He dismounted, levered the locking bar away and pulled open the door as quickly as he could. This done, he moved back to his horse and thundered out of Colby, away from all human settlement and towards the Desolation.

Book Review - Killing Floor by Lee Child

Jack Reacher.
Men want to be him.
Women want to be with him.

I'm taking that straight from the back of the book and i have to say, from reading this book, which is the first of a series, that its the stupidest and most proposterious thing that could have been written. It's like saying that this:

Oven.
Microwaves want to be it.
Kettles want to be with it.

Just about as stupid as that, really.

Anyways, i may be making it seems like a bad book, but it's not all bad. I'll give you the run down of the story.

Storyline

Jack Reacher is a wanderer who is doing nothing with his life after getting out of the army. He walks into a town where he is accused of murder. It turns out the deceased happens to be his brother who Jack hasn't seen in years. He then goes out for revenge and finds out that the whole town is part of a money conterfieting scheme that could potentially ruin the whole of the USA. There is a few deaths, a couple nights in prison, a sexy lady and some predictable twists. Ends up with Jack killing everyone involved and walking out of town.

Ramble

The first thing i have to say is that Lee Child really should learn how to use the word 'and'. It's really not that hard. His writing style is as follows: I sat down. I ordered coffee. Drank coffee. It was good. Lots of small sentences. Put together. Like this. Which is. Really. Annoying. After 200 pages. Which means you have. 300 pages. More. To. Go. etc....

The main character is pretty cool. The wandering army dude who has all the skills of a hitman and who kills poeple for justice or just cause he feels like it. I didn't mind him really. The supporting characters weren't too bad either. It's all in first person so they are always a bit in the background.

The plot itself works but it seems like its a bit overdramatized. For some reason, the main bad guy likes feeding genitals to poeple. I think it was to make the reader hate him. Also, there is a side plot about a guitarist who had been dead for 60 years that had nothing to do with anything. In the end you found out that that guitarist had been killed by the father of one of the bad guys. Kinda really random.

Also, the title of the book 'Killing Floor' doesn't work for me. I can't work out what it is refering to in the story.

Conclusion

I am pretty sure i'm not going to bother with the rest of the books in the series. Not really my cup of tea. I'm sure some people must like them or there wouldn't be so many printed and published. I can see this book being more of an airport thing than a serious reading for enjoyment book.

I'm going to give it a 4.5/10

Love, Life and Little bit of Left-Wing Policy

What was that i hear you say? You want to know what's been going on with me? Surely it'd be more exciting if i wrote another book review. No? You really want to hear stuff about me? Okay, okay. What can i do if you are being so persistant?

What comes first to my head is the awesomeness of the football! There was a few years there when i seriously didn't care about it any more, but that might have something with the position of my team on the AFL table (in the bottom 4 for 5 consecuative years is not fun). But now that the Blues are playing well and butchering my brother's team, it makes it all so much more enjoyable.

The game that i went to see was Carlton vs West Coast at Etihad Stadium (30th May). Dad, my bro and i went over to Melbourne specially to see them. I must say this was the first time i'd been to see an actual footy game live in like 10 years. The last game i saw was at Optus Oval, also the Blues versus the Eagles. I must say i'm surprised at how close the play seemed to the crowd.



I was sitting up on the second teir, above the carlton fan team with their bogan accents and really stupid cries. Sport songs are so generic that they can be used for any team in any sport. I'm sure that the clap-clap-clap-team name thing is used everywhere all around the world.

The game itself was good (mostly cause the blues won 105-76) and shouting out insults and cheering was also fun. I'd do it again fo shizzle, ma nizzle

That's not enough, you say? Gosh! You are so demanding!

I turned up to the end of a Eurovision Party dig but seeing as i'd already seen most of the songs, i wasn't too disappointed. I was surprised at the winner though. I was quadruply surprised that my country didn't even get into the finals. Out of all the songs that i heard, Lithuania was definitely the best. Oh, i forgot that the competition isn't about quality...

Go here to listen to some Eastern European Funk: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab9C0klYilw

If you want to hear the winner again, jump on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIN8D8UnFa0

She has the strangest accent ever! I'm thinking she grew up listening to audiobooks from a range of different countries and her parents never talked to her, so she picked up a million different accents and combined them into the wierdest accent. She gets points from me for that, as well as looking delicious, i mean, quite nice....mmmmmmmm....Lena.....what?

Anyways, moving on to other international events. I'm looking forward to seeing the world cup in South Africa! Australia are playing on the 13th, 19th and 23rd of June. I'm not sure what time the games will be broadcast over here, but no matter the time, i'll be there watching the Socceroos 'shepard a bit of round leather into an outdoor cupboard' (Bill Bailey, Tinselworm, 2009).


Okay, what else is going on?

Well, i've finished uni for the semester. I dont know if i'll be going back. I really really need a break from everything that's going on. Whatever that involves, i'm not quite sure yet, so suggest some ideas. Anyways, one thing that i will probably be doing is some more of my writing. With the help of helpful helper, i'm hoping to enter a couple of competitions this year. I'm not quite sure how well i'll go but i guess it can't hurt. I'll be going over my favourite stories (Hell Train, Sun Boy and Moon Girl, Across the River, and a yet unnamed one) and editing them to get ready for some professional to have a look at them.

Other than that, i've been spending time watching Supernatural. Love that show, i hear you say and i agree with you.

Hmmmm, it is getting late and my head is running out of words so i'll finish it up there. This is really my first 'real' blog-type post that i've done. I actually blogged about me. Strange, i know. It may never happen again.

I shall finish this post on a high note. Think of me saying this in a girls voice. Or not. I dont mind too much.


SANS PANTS!!!!!!!!!