Silverfire

Here is some of a story I started a long while back based on a great D&D campaign I was privileged to participate in. This is not how I remember it and I do not think this is the best version of it, (yes it was rewritten several times) so if someone out there has the good copy which I can't seem to find, please let me know. I would really like to go further with this some day, maybe I'll even be able to complete this tale... Anyway, on with the goods!


Silverfire

Outside the Pride of Waterdeep Inn the temperature was dropping rapidly, as the sun had fallen behind the horizon a few hours ago. It was fast approaching late autumn and although the hour was late, many merchants were still going about their business, eager to secure their shipments before the winter hit in full and the shipping ceased. The sky was without stars this windy night, shut out by the approaching storm that closed in on the city from the north. The unusual blackness of the sky and the gusting, howling wind made the outdoors seem most uninviting.

Within the sturdy walls of the Pride of Waterdeep, though, the patrons of the inn were in a joyous state. All of them with the exception of one. An elf. A most unusual individual to be unengaged in the festivities about him, yet he was quite removed from the cheers, toasts to friends, and laughter that filled the place. Off at a corner table, all alone sat the elf. He was of normal height and build for an elf with nothing remarkable about

him, save his long, silvery hair and his stern, piercing silver gaze.

His only company was the tall bottle of elvin wine, and a long sword lying unsheathed, next to it's scabbard upon the small, round table. The elf sat perfectly still, staring at the sword before him. His only movements were to take an occasional, deep swallow from the open bottle which, was now, nearly half empty.

Off to the side, a barmaid approached the small, wooden table that the elf occupied. Too far into his own thoughts, the normally alert elf was oblivious to her advance. Standing directly beside the elf, the barmaid reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer meaning to whisper into his delicate ear.

Suddenly the elf snapped back to his immediate surroundings. Without hesitation he sprang from his chair, snatching the sword from the table as he rose. The unfortunate barmaid soon found herself lying flat on her back with the elf poised above her, his eyes full of blazing hatred, and his sword resting on her collar bone, it's tip scratching her throat.

The taproom became suddenly quiet, as the patrons considered the comotion and it's source. The elf sensed all those eyes glaring at him and forced himself to relax his sword. The barmaid's fear showed plainly upon her face and for many uncomfrotable moments, even when the elf returned the sword to the table, she lay there, not daring to move. Neither did the eyes of the crowded room move, staying firmly fixed upon the very odd, and seemingly hostile, elf.

Becoming very uncomfortable under the stares, the elf turned his discomfort into anger and vented it on the unfortunate woman, who was still lying at his feet.

"Damned human, don't ever sneak up on me like that again. It is a very good way to end your pathetic existence." With that the elf spun around and seated himself back at his table, returning to his lucidity.

Completely shocked the woman sat there dumbly for a moment more. Then, she burst into tears as she scrambled to her feet and ran back to the kitchen. Another barmaid followed her into the kitchen, and a dark scowl etched itself into the bartender's face as he looked on. The crowd continued it's silent observation of the situation, as if they expected something more to occur.

This went on for several more seconds, the grouping in the taproom gazing at the elf, and the elf, in return, ignoring the fact that they even existed. Suddenly the silence was shattered when a dwarf stood upon his table and held his mug up bellowing,"Give me another mug 'o mead, real mead this time not this watered down orc piss."

The gathering relaxed at that, some even chuckling at the obviously intoxicated dwarf - the chuckles inevitably received a threatening glare from the aggravated dwarf. The bartender was unsure if he should be grateful to the dwarf for breaking the tension, or if he should be offended by the dwarf's accusation. With a shrug he poured a tall glass of his strongest mead, promptly sending it to the dwarf's table. His bar was far more important than a drunken dwarf's opinion of his mead.

667

Last night I was sifting through some old-old papers and books in my office and ran across some treasures that I have not laid eyes on in over twelve years. Every time I see these three numbers I always remember good times in the company of friends. 667, Neighbor of The Beast Productions was the brain trust of three like minded and very talented people. It was an ambitious project that unfortunately never really got off the ground but it was a really fun project to work on. The basic principal of the endeavor was to produce and self-publish our writing possibly making a profit in the process. It's too bad that a group of young adults with no professional experience or contacts just did not know the first thing about how to go about making it work. In any event, I have put up a few samples of what we did those years ago for nostalgia. Any of the original authors are more than welcome to have all of the work that I have collected sent to them and you also have the right to have me take your entry off of this page. I hope you are more flattered than angry!

Neighbor collaboration

THE RIDE- by A.C. Baker

and J.A. Chesney

One way or another, everyone goes for the ride.

For some, the ride is short

For others, long.

Most all of us fear the end.

Because we know it’s a one way trip.

No one gets off ‘till it’s over,

And no one ever comes back.

Some find great wealth along the way,

Some find gutters to sleep in.

The ride itself is different for us all,

But the end result is always the same.

Be you man, boy, woman, or girl

You are already on the ride,

But none of us are really in the drivers seat.

And we’ll all find out what the end is...

...Soon enough.

667, Neighbor of The Beast Productions. LTD.

E.P. Schudlich

LIFE, WHAT IS IT WORTH?

“Life, what is it worth? Is death the most terrible thing?” I think many people have pondered over these two simple questions. Many of these people probably faced great dispair or tragedy at the time they questioned life and its worth. I believe that life is very cheap and pointless. One lifeform feeds off another in an endless circle. Like a dog chasing it’s tail, life is completely without meaning. Organisms, no matter how simple or complex, are born only to die after a short period of life. To me, life is utterly worthless because it is so unnecessary. In the eyes of the eternal universe, life is nothing but cheap fodder to be thrown to the hungry jaws of death. And what of death? Is it the most terrible thing? I would say that death is not the most terrible thing to be faced in life. Rather, it’s the anguish and suffering, both mental and physical, that’s endured while living that is most terrible. Life fears death because physical pain is associated with it, but once life becomes death what difference does it make?

E. Schudlich III

J.A. Chesney

Right! - by J.A. Chesney

You’re always right,

And whether you’re right

or exactly right,

You’re still right.

But sometimes you’re just right,

But right just the same,

And sometimes you’re quite right,

But never almost right,

And NEVER like me,

Because you’re right,

And when you’re right,

you’re right.

And you,

You’re always right.

-----------------------------------------------------

1996- by J.A. Chesney

I don’t want to see what will be,

Don’t want to know what lies ahead

One more year, will it ever get better?

I don’t think it will

New years kisses,

Lots of beer and champagne,

But not one kiss,

And not a drop for me

I don’t want to do it all over again,

One more year,

I’m tired, I’m alone,

Tears drying in my eyes,

Happy new year

A.C. Baker

ALONE- by A.C. Baker

Alone.

No thoughts.

No wants.

No desires.

Alone.

Nothingness.

Unblinking.

Only breathing.

Barely.

Alone.

Heart slowing.

Slower still.

Stopped.

Alone.

Cold.

Still.

No tears.

Darkness.

Alone.

-------------------------------------------------------------

WAR - by A.C. Baker

On the ground, there he lay.

With nowhere to go, nothing to say.

Blood was soaked into the stone,

The bodies around him were nothing but bones.

There in the silence he wanted to cry,

Not one tear left his eye.

He rose to his feet and looked around,

The carnage he saw held him spellbound.

One by one shots were fired,

The ending result was what he desired.

He fell to the ground, his soul was gone.

And with his death, came the dawn.

GLFWDA