Mór Reodh Pub Song – They Come

The men they come,
The men they come.
They shape our streets,
And they build our homes.
The men they come,
The men they come.
Cover all the land before they’re done.

And if you should live while they provide,
Then a prosperous life you’re sure to find.
With a wooden door to close at night,
And a solid wall to soothe your mind.

The Wee Men come,
The Wee Men come.
They flood our streets,
And they burn our homes.
The Wee Men come,
The Wee Men come.
Take you underground before they’re done.

And if they should come while you’re alive,
Then you’d better be sure that you can hide.
If they drag you off into the night,
Then they’ll take your soul before your life.

The Tall Men come,
The Tall Men come.
They take our folk,
And they eat our young.
The Tall Men come,
The Tall Men come.
Turn us all to stone before they’re done.

And if they should come while you’re alive,
Then you’d better be sure that you can hide.
For they’ll catch you out with their great strides,
And a long-lived life you’ll be denied.

The screams they come,
The screams they come.
They rend our ears,
And they burn our lungs.
The screams they come,
The screams they come.
And they’ll bleed us hoarse until they’re done.

And if they should come while you’re alive,
Then you’d better be sure that you can hide.
But don’t let yours out while they’re outside,
Or you’ll join your kin on the underside.

The Travellers come,
The Travellers come.
They clear our streets,
As they have their fun.
The Travellers come,
The Travellers come.
Silence all our lands before they’re done.

And if they should come while you’re alive,
Then you’ll thank the walls that you survived.
Now the Tall Men fall and Wee Men die,
And a stillness comes to our fair isle.

 

From Havelock’s Path: A Stone King Slumbers

The Spindle

Hello,

Thought I’d post a pic that looks like a child drew it. However, I drew it. A 31-year-old… soz.

It was really just a quick sketch so that I can build up an image in my mind of how the antagonist of my book would fit in with the world around him.

The main character knows it only as “The Spindle”, which is what he calls it upon seeing it stand up with its back to him just over midway through the book. It has another name but that’s something that will be revealed later on in the story, and would be somewhat spoilerific (not that I mind spoilers – feel free to tell me about the latest GoT finale!).

It stands around twice the height of a man, and resembles a stick insect crossed with a person. The face is inspired by Japanese Noh Masks, and every one of these creatures will have a face that resembles such a mask. I wanted to use these masks because I think they are bloody terrifying. They can have a serene expression, yet that expression to me feels like something that would remain the same whether it was casually talking with you, or disemboweling you…

ImageIt is bipedal, but also happy to scuttle around on the four arms that extend from the torso, holding the legs over it’s back, looking like some kind of malnourished scorpion as it goes.

While it is the primary antagonist of the story, there are many other creatures that Wil comes across during his travels. Some mundane, others slight twists on the real, and some plain hideous little beasties. This guy up top? I dreamt about him, and I did not like the way he crouched down to see me one bit.

As for the writing, I’m currently writing the fourth chapter and prologue, as I almost made the two into one chapter. Now I’m planning on referring to the conclusion of the prologue as an almost casual aside in chapter four. The effect is a little like seeing Vincent die in Pulp Fiction, but obviously not as hard hitting…

The Night Before

Nobody visited from the outside, but then nobody knew where “outside” really was. Was it near or was it far? Was it anywhere at all? The high, moss furred walls of the endless city stretched upwards and outwards much, much further than anybody cared to bother themselves with. Well anybody who wasn’t Wilbur, that is.

The scrawny, twenty-one-year-old heir to the throne of Stonewall, often made his way to the highest tower of his father’s buildings and sighed as he looked out over the sprawling mess of grey and green stone walls. That view was all he really knew about his world, and it was all he was ever expected to know. Wilbur had decided that tomorrow this expectation of himself would change. He was planning an excursion, he wanted to discover what lay beyond those walls. Certainly none of his friends, family or local residents knew! He had been gathering things for his expedition: some dried bread and salted ham, a tinder box, a couple of blankets, two red leather-bound notebooks and a few pencils, a sharp knife, a good length of rope and his great grandpa’s heavy old brass compass. He had packed them all in his worn blue backpack that his mother had made for him back he started school at four years old. It was more than a little moth eaten now, but there was more than enough space for everything he deemed vital for his trip. He even had space to bring back a souvenir, should he chance upon one.

As the sun lowered itself to the top of the great walls in the distance, heavy shadows blanketed the streets below, and a warm orange glow coated the bellies of the clouds above. He’d certainly be wanting a good night’s sleep before tomorrow, so he settled down by the window that was keeping watch over the inhabited city bounds. His backpack made a firm, if misshapen pillow. As he closed his eyes and slowed his breath, he gave a small chuckle as he thought back to his bed, where Bess, the maid, would soon be none the wiser when glancing in to see the Wilbur-like shape filling his bed. His thoughts began to scatter, imagining the adventure that lay before him, and sleep soon came easily.