Stage In The Sky

Author, Essayist, Provoker of Thoughts

  • Rock Kitaro
    • Allyssa’s Graduation
    • Remembering Autumn
    • Rock’s Introduction
    • Remember Patricia Griffin
    • Remember Patricia Griffin II.
    • Middle School
    • My Own Personal Kingdom
  • Bible Truths
    • Deuteronomy
    • Prologue – How Did I Do it?
    • 1. The Bible and Tolerance
    • 2. The World Starts to Make Sense
    • 3. It Explains Human Behavior
    • 4. You’re Never Alone with God
    • 5. Made Up Religious Practices
    • 6. How Satan Works
    • 7. Faith vs Intelligence
    • 8. Changed My Priorities
    • Redemption: Who Cares?
    • 9. Hope For Everlasting Life
    • 10. It Set Me Free
  • Knights with No Lords
    • Table of Contents
    • Chapter 1 – Vision
    • Chapter 2: The Lion
    • Chapter 3 – Orphans
    • Chapter 4: Fool Me
    • Chapter 5: Companions
    • Chapter 6: Auburn
    • Chapter 7: Trossachs
    • Chapter 8: Cascades
    • Chapter 9: Pellinore
    • Chapter 10: Daughter
    • Chapter 11: Paramour
    • Chapter 12: Emotion
    • Chapter 13: Wolves
    • Chapter 14: Juggle
    • Chapter 15: Crush
    • Chapter 16: 2nd Vision
    • Chapter 17: White Stag
    • Chapter 18: Generation
    • Chapter 19: Revenge
    • Chapter 20: Breakout
    • Chapter 21: Betrayal
    • Chapter 22: Weighed
    • Chapter 23: Despair
    • Chapter 24: An Ounce
    • Chapter 25: Escape
    • Chapter 26: Onslaught
    • Chapter 27: Knights
    • Chapter 28: Gawain
    • Chapter 29: Remember
    • Knights: Epilogue
  • Paramour Letters
    • Table of Contents
    • Letter 01: Women Really Do Run the World
    • Letter 02: The Green Cocktail Dress
    • Letter 03: The Network Executive
    • Letter 04: Gladys Vandelay, the Protege
    • Letter 05: Gladys – The Initiation
    • Letter 06: Hopeless Commander
    • Letter 07: Domestication
    • Letter 08: Assembly
    • Letter 9: Daughter’s Rage
    • Letter 10: The Cult
    • Letter 11: For the Living
    • Letter 12: Redemption
    • Letter 13: The Truth
  • The Slave Quarters
    • Table of Contents
    • Chapter 1: Old Smiles
    • Chapter 2: Horrid
    • Chapter 3: Meritocracy
    • Chapter 4: My Equal
    • Chapter 5: Next Case
    • Chapter 6: Pleasantries
    • Chapter 7: Cotton
    • Chapter 8: Majorettes
    • Chapter 9: A Suspect
    • Chapter 10: Emotion
    • Chapter 11: Thin Air
    • Chapter 12: Old South
    • Chapter 13: The Media
    • Chapter 14: Interrogate
    • Chapter 15: Wrong
    • Chapter 16: The Pieces
    • Chapter 17: Fear Me
    • Chapter 18: Not Over
    • Chapter 19 – Lights
    • Chapter 20: Seen
    • Chapter 21: Warmth
    • Chapter 22: Work
  • Published Books
    • Writing Fight Choreography in Books
    • Bios
      • Eliza Christie – The Jaguar of August the 18th
      • The Pierce Syndicate Characters
      • Race Track Road Characters
      • Dragon Ash Characters
      • Knights with No Lords
    • Six Steps for People Who Want to Write Their Own Books
  • The Truth Series
    • Men Converting to Islam
    • Red Pill and Christian
    • The Truth about Arrogance
    • The Truth About Jezebel
    • Truth About Good Girls Falling for Bad Boys
    • Truth about Self-Love
    • Why Christians Hate Being Judged
    • Dating Outside Your Race
    • I Hate Going to Parties
    • Losing Interest In Christian Women
    • The Truth About Being Brutally Honest
    • The Truth About Jesus’s Identity
    • The Truth about King Solomon
    • The Truth About Losing Weight
    • Truth About Single Mothers
    • Wives Submit to Husbands
    • Is “Ugly” Discouraging?
    • Is Sex All Women Have to Offer?
    • The Truth About Beauty
    • The Hidden Truth about Millennial Dating
    • The Energy You Put Out
    • Truth about Strong and Independent
    • Alphas vs Nice Guys
    • Have Fun Now, Get Religious Later
    • Judgmental Christians
    • The Truth About Adultery and Divorce
    • The Truth about Being Tall
    • Does God Really Hear Prayers
    • The Truth about Black Men vs Black Women
    • The Truth About Human Suffering
    • The Truth About Sexual Tension
    • A Study of Malachi
    • The Truth About the MeToo Movement
    • Disrespecting Christians
  • Critical Essays
    • I can relate to Clark Kent
    • 900 People Died because they Didn’t Know the Truth
    • Black Celebrities
    • Discovering the Sigma Male
    • She Hates You, She Loves You
    • Virginity in Today’s Hook-Up Culture
    • “Writing isn’t a hobby…”
    • 47 Ronin and the Will McAvoy Speech
    • A Line Where Modesty Leads to Depression
    • About deductive reasoning…
    • False Dilemma Fallacy
    • Forgiveness – A New Practice for Me
    • Intelligence – Best thing People Hate About You
    • Is being smart so important?
    • My New Role as Devil’s Advocate
    • Feelings of Inferiority and Equality
    • Five Situations the Ambitious Should Avoid
    • No Longer Diving In Headfirst
    • The Ignorance Bubble
    • Why claiming to be different can make look like an asshole.
    • Get Married before You Have Children
    • Godly Men Don’t Care About Money
    • If You don’t like Reading
    • Attack on Hand Me Down Statements
    • Creepy – How This Word Can Ruin Relationships
    • Racial Tension
    • When someone says they’re a writer, I cringe…
  • Drama Sketches
    • Romantic Comedy Premise
    • The Monster
    • Dr. Tobias Show
    • The Three Rocks – Being Stood Up
    • Attending Ms. Johansson
  • Kpop
    • Table of Contents
    • I. Korean Music
    • II. J-Rock
    • III. Rise of DBSK
    • IV. Legend of H.O.T.
    • V. The Legend of Seo Taiji
    • VI. Seven vs Rain
    • VII. Big Bang vs the Pretty Boys
    • VIII – Dir En Grey
    • IX. Tragedy of NRG
    • X. Anime Rock
    • XI. KAT-TUN
    • XII – Big Bang Explodes
    • XIII. Wonder Girls & Wheesung
    • XIV. Clazziquai
    • XV. Girl’s Generation
    • XVI. Korean Hip Hop
    • XVII. Old-School Kpop
    • XVIII. Dragon Ash
    • XIX. Epik High
    • XX – Taeyang & Shinee
    • XXI. Arashi
    • XXII. Maximum the Hormone
    • XXIII. Wonderbang
    • XXIV. 2pm
    • XXV. Big Bang vs DBSK
    • XXVI. Sorry Sorry
    • XXVII. 2NE1
    • XXVIII. Yoko Kanno
    • XXIX – Big Bang in Japan
    • XXX. Trax
    • XXXI. G-Dragon
    • XXXI. MBLAQ and BEAST
    • XXXIII. Fall of 2009
    • XXXIV. Losing Jay Park
    • 10 Kpop Artists Made for the U.S.
  • Old Stories
    • The Night My Mother Tried To Arrest Me
    • Rock Kitaro’s Ghost Poem
    • Dragon Ash
      • Dragon Ash – Episode 1
      • Dragon Ash – Episode 2
      • The Meaning Behind “Dragon Ash”
    • The Boys from Racetrack Road
      • Racetrack Road – Episode 1
    • Crusades Story
    • Romance in Philippe Park
    • The Godfather’s Sword: Braden Pierce
    • Eight for Death : Gavin Hassell
    • My Childhood with a Sociopath
    • The Killing on Corona Avenue
  • G-Force – Fan Fiction
    • Creating Worlds – Prologue
    • G-Force Chapter 1: Adoption
    • Chapter 2: Don’t F**K with Sailor Scouts
    • Chapter 3 – Sailor Jupiter Strikes
    • Chapter 4: Sub-Zero
    • Chapter 5: Love Bites and a Final Blow
    • Chapter 6: Majestic vs Ryu
    • Chapter 7 – G-Force in Full Effect
    • Chapter 8 – The Guy Who Beat Sailor Jupiter
    • Chapter 9 – G-Force vs. G-X
  • Rock’s Video Rants
  • 8 Things That Ruined Dating
    • 1. The Hook-Up Culture
    • 2. Tinder and Dating Apps
    • 3. Cat-Calling and Accusations
    • 04. Gynocentric Worship of Women
    • 05. The Weaponization of Women
    • 6. Rise of the Manosphere
    • 7. The Sisterhood
  • Travel Memoirs

The Knights with No Lords: Chapter 6 – Auburn and Sapphire (Fantasy Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 14, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Knights With No Lords. Tagged: Arthurian Ficiton, books 2018, Fantasy fiction, Isolde, online fantasy, online reading, Pellinore, Tristan and Isolde. Leave a comment

Things are starting to look up for Morgan as Pellinore, the fearless leader of a mercenary band has joined the group. Meanwhile, Princess Isolde holds negotiations with the Viking king of a Northern tribe. After confronting King Drest for killing one of her favorite knights, all hell breaks loose. Isolde is attacked.

Chapter 6 - Auburn and Sapphire - Artwork by Conor Burkeartwork by Conor Burke

Chapter 6 – Auburn and Sapphire
By Rock Kitaro

That night, a cheerful Morgan finally got a taste of what it was like to be her sister, Elaine. She was surrounded by ten, young, fearsome warriors who would sooner wreak havoc than let any harm come to her. The way they just so happened to run into Pellinore and his band of Black Bloods was nothing short of blind luck. Like the aligning stars, everything was working in her favor.

Seated around a campfire with lively banter, the party filled their stomachs with gamey meat and sterilized pond water. An exhausted Agravain and Gaheris kept nodding off as they leaned against each other. Meanwhile, Morgan continued to throw smirking glances at the strikingly handsome Pellinore as she mended a hole in Gaheris’s cape.

“All right, my prince. Out with it. How do you know this girl?” Kanish asked.

Pellinore smirked as he sharpened his claymore sword with a stone. “The first time I laid eyes on this one, she was but a spoiled little whelp. Mouthy and brash, no shred of discipline or respect.”

Gaheris and Agravain chuckled before Morgan quickly turned and poked their knees with her sewing needle. Gaheris fumed, ready to push her into the fire if Agravain hadn’t returned to resting his head on his shoulder.

“I was sixteen,” Pellinore continued. “Still running with Urien and the Knights of Gore. We were hunting a group of bandits. They attacked a small village and tried to get lost in the woods but once I sink my teeth in I don’t let go. This one was in the woods with Gawain doing God knows what but…I don’t know. There was something about the boy that I took a liking to.”

“Bullocks! You?” Jeremy jeered.

The Brood of Black Bloods expressed their disbelief but Pellinore raised his hands. “Don’t get the wrong idea, boys! I wasn’t all sunshine and warm milk at first. It’s just one of those moments where you have a feeling that there’s something different about a man. You can’t explain it. Some people have it. Others don’t. I tell you, there’s something special about Gawain. And when the boy took up the sword and ruined my flawless face, it was confirmed.”

Agravain suddenly perked up. “Gawain gave you that scar?!”

“He’s your big brother, is he? Well let me tell you, lads like him come in rare stock. At sixteen I was already a freak of nature. I even bested Tristan here in four out of ten matches. Everyone was afraid of me.”

“Still are!” Barxy laughed.

“That’s right! Haha! But your brother Gawain was different. Back then, I confess Morgan got under my skin and stamped on my honor.”

“She embarrassed you?” Gaheris asked.

“Yes, she embarrassed me,” Pellinore clarified. “You have to understand, if Tristan is the lion then I am the wolf. When I really get going, I can’t see straight. The blood under my skin feels like corrosive acid bubbling up like a bloody volcano. I need a release lest I explode and kill everything in sight!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Tristan scoffed as he drank.

“What did I say, exactly? Do you remember?” Morgan asked.

“Aye, I remember. It was at a tournament. The people were booing me and I did not like that. Not one bit. So I called for an open challenge. I was ready to take on anyone dumb enough to come at me when all the sudden this little minx comes running onto the pitch. She says, and I quote, ‘my nephew Gawain can beat you, you big ugly ass!’” Pellinore recalled.

“Hear, hear!” Kanish shouted.

The Black Bloods and Morgan laughed out loud after Pellinore mimicked her childish voice. Even Tristan had to admit the sight of Pellinore’s lively reenactment was somewhat comical.

“Like it was yesterday, I remember. I can still see the boy half scared out of his mind. He was shaking, I tell you! Once I shouted, ‘ARE YOU OR ARE YOU NOT OF GORLOIS’S BLOOD!’ Oh it lit a fire in him! Twas like the fear melted away and in its place was the unflinching eyes of a hawk. That was Gawain. The boy had an exotic blade, foreign but deceptively sturdy. And I swear to you, I didn’t go easy on him. All of Tintagel was watching. They were laughing at me thanks to the girl. If crippling the boy was the price of their silence, I was ready to make pay!

“He tried to employ some bait and run tactic. I don’t know. It was silly. He was running all over the place like a damned jackrabbit. Extremely frustrating! I struck his armor, knocking him to the ground with each blow. I know it had to hurt like hell. The boy was only nine for craps sake. But somehow he managed to get back up. Then, it came to a point where we both extended for a full on straight-forward lunge. He didn’t have snowball’s chance in hell, but something happened! I can’t make this up. All the sudden my armor felt like it tripled in weight if just for an instance. I glanced down to see if my foot was caught on something and when I looked up, all I saw was the glint from Gawain’s sword slicing up my left eye.”

“OH!!!” The Black Bloods gushed in unison.

“Armor tripled in weight, huh,” Tristan said as he turned and cast his suspicion on Morgan.

Morgan bounced a single brow as if to say, “You’ve got no proof.”

“Anyway. After that, I learned not to underestimate the youth. Particularly the House of Gorlois. I always imagined Gawain would grow up to become king.”

Morgan was pleased to hear him say that.

“King of what?” Tristan asked.

“King of anything,” Pellinore answered. “In fact, if Gawain decided to take Cornwall, I might just help him do it.”

“You’re trying to goad me, Pellinore. I won’t fall for it.”

“What’s the matter, Tristan? Come to think of it, shouldn’t you be a knight by now? What’s the old man thinking? Doesn’t he trust you? I mean, you are the Champion of Cornwall. Whatever the hell that means.”

Tristan threw the rest of his water out into the fire causing a sizzle of steam that matched his brewing contempt. “You’re about to cross some lines, Pellinore. Don’t make me murder you in your sleep.”

“Wouldn’t be the first to try.”

“So, Kanish, is it?” Gaheris interrupted with an annoyed sigh. “What brought you to Pellinore’s employment?”

Kanish smirked, picking up on Gaheris’s diplomacy. “My prince Pellinore is not my employer. We are but six men who crave independence from this wretched world of betrayal and sunder.”

“Hear, hear!” Jeremy, Balto, Barxy, and Dantry all said in unison.

Kanish explained, “Two years ago some villains calling themselves knights entered my home, killed my wife, and raped her corpse. I caught them in the act and set the cabin ablaze with everyone inside. A mob was after my head when I ran into Balto and Pellinore. They helped me escape and I’ve been indebted to them ever since.”

“Why the Brood of Black Bloods? Who thought of such a horrid name?” Morgan asked.

“That’s a tragic story, Kanish. I’m sorry for causing you to remember,” Gaheris said as Morgan rolled her eyes.

“I came up with the name!” Pellinore said, answering Morgan’s question with pride. “It’s because metal runs through my veins turning my blood thick and black.”

“Yes. I love the significance, darling. It’s the name that’s ghastly. Why not simply, Black Bloods? Drop the ‘brood’ part. No one’s going to remember that. People will mock you behind your back,” Morgan predicted.

“And by ‘people’ she means just her,” Gaheris quipped, causing a round of laughter.

Oddly enough, Pellinore took Morgan’s criticism to heart. It hurt his feelings and the sadness was transparent. He caught Tristan staring and manned up quickly.

“When this is all over, you and me, we’ll settle the score,” Pellinore snarled.

“Challenge accepted,” Tristan grumbled.

“Alright, Spartans. We should get some rest. We’re close to the Picts and we’re bound to run into Gawain any day now,” Morgan said.

“And you’re certain of this?” Kanish asked.

Morgan smirked, “Don’t worry. A little bird told me.”

Agravain was already asleep in Gaheris’s lap.

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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 6 – Pleasantries (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 10, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: augusta georgia, Cloud and Jessica, grudges, online books, online mystery, Pleasantries, reunions. Leave a comment

Cloud and Jessica are returning to their hometown of historic Augusta, Georgia to investigate the Slave Quarter murders. It’s a complicated reunion on so many levels as Cloud has to get used to working with his old crush and an old enemy. Detective Mark Griffin is the lead working the Slave Quarter murders. He’s also the same officer who bungled his mother’s case five years earlier, prompting Cloud to take matters in his own hands and start down a bloody path, a path that’s relentlessly ate at Cloud’s conscience ever since.

Chapter 6 - Pleasantries

Chapter 6 – Pleasantries
By Rock Kitaro

“Kill Crystianne. Don’t forget!”

Maggie’s been whispering the same damn thing all night. I suppose she wanted to get in one last reminder just before daybreak. I’m sitting in the backseat while Jessica sits shotgun and Leanne drives like its Talladega on I-20.

It’s too early to be blasting AC/DC, but Leanne is amped up and excited. Remarkable. Her demeanor would have me believe we’re on our way to cash in free passes at an amusement park. She’s laughing at all of her own jokes, cutting off Jessica, and dominating the conversation with theories about the mainstream media being in the pockets of the Liberal politicians. Whether I agree with her or not is irrelevant. I only know that providing any feedback will only encourage her ceaseless oratory. Jessica, on the other hand, has yet to learn that critical lesson.

Leanne assumed Jessica and I were happy for our homecoming. She asks what it was like growing up in Augusta. And of course, as soon as Jessica opens up, Leanne cuts her off to talk about her own rough upbringing in New Port Richey, Florida. Yep, I get to hear replays of stories I’ve already heard as she narrates with the same spite about backstabbing boyfriends, an overbearing mother, and old co-workers who doubted she’d ever amount to anything.

In between bursts of laughter, Jessica sips from her coffee and glances back at me. She’s curious. She wonders if I’m always well groomed in my black slacks, blazer, and white collar. I’m not tired. I expect it to be a long day. There’s an energy shot in my bag just in case.

In my hands is a computer tablet. They think I’m taking the time to better acquaint myself with the case but that’s only half correct. In truth, I want to know what Det. Mark Griffin’s been up to since botching my mother’s homicide five years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was my crucible.

Back then, Det. Griffin had only recently transferred to the Athens Police Department. Taking that into consideration, I couldn’t place the blame entirely on him, not as much as I did his veteran partner. Det. John Hart was everything I hated about old school law enforcement. How they lingered to stereotypes and put everyone in a category. To Det. Hart, my mother was no exception.

Even at her funeral, I could hear Det. Hart calling my mother a whore who got what was coming to her. When they first questioned me, they made it point to bring up my family’s history with mental instability, reaching for that suicide theory, noting that no one in my family has ever lived past the age of forty-five. Then, days later, Det. Hart called himself trying to put me in my place when he told me he was closing the case and dared me to hit him. When I refrained, that fat bastard chuckled thinking he got the best of me. That was just an hour before I met Maggie.

I see…

It appears detective Hart and Griffin managed to botch another case not long after I graduated and left Athens. I scroll through the local news sites and learn that Det. Hart manufactured evidence to justify shooting an unarmed African-American. I guess he didn’t count on the rising trend of everyone taking out their camera phones. A neighbor recorded the whole thing.

Hart received a three-year sentence and was now bound to wheelchair in an assisted living facility after suffering a stroke in prison. The disgraced Det. Griffin transferred out of the precinct, somehow finding his way to Augusta of all places.

I should be satisfied but I’m not.

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The Knights with No Lords: Chapter 5 – Companions (Fantasy Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 7, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Knights With No Lords, online stories, Original Stories. Tagged: Agravain, fantasy, Fantasy fiction, Gaheris, King Arthur Fiction, Morgan le Fay, online reading, serial books, Sir Tristan. Leave a comment

Encroaching north into enemy territory, Morgan, Gaheris, and Agravain think they’ve found their beloved Gawain in a wagon full of slaves. The emboldened youngsters get involved and bite off more they can chew when a horde of soldiers come to reclaim their prize. And, of course, all hell breaks loose when Tristan catches up with them. The Lion of Dumnonia shows them all, what it means to be the king of beasts.

Chapter 5 - Companions

The Word Alive – “Epiphany” (fight music) https://stageinthesky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/02-epiphany.mp3

Chapter 5 – Companions
By Rock Kitaro

“Sing us a song!”

“No, Morgan. It’s the most annoying thing in the world,” Agravain grumbled.

“Why not? I thought that’s what soldiers do.”

“If you want music so bad, have at it,” Gaheris said as Agravain chuckled at the thought.

“Honestly, you two have got to be the dullest traveling companions ever.”

For six boring, uneventful days the three runaways rode hard and trekked hundreds of miles. So far, they’d managed to avoid confrontation and detection by traveling routes dictated by Morgan. They refrained from venturing out into open fields or flat lands, and instead confined themselves to the dense shrouded woodlands.

According to Morgan, certain areas of the forests enhanced her abilities. Of course, Gaheris was skeptical.

Three hours after sunset, the trio was still going strong. Normally, they would’ve hunkered down and sought shelter for the night. However, they were in the Woods of Frozen Dreams. The trees, rocks, and leaves were all encrusted in glowing baby blue crystals. The forest was riddled with small sinkholes full of milky turquoise water. They couldn’t ride their horses but had to guide them along narrow pathways to avoid plunging in.

Everything was so bright and gleaming that they could scarcely see without squinting. It would have been impossible to get any sleep until they left the forest, thus, they proceeded along a snake-winding trail that was just wide enough for two men to stand abreast.

Gaheris was still annoyed but he stopped griping days ago. Now it seemed as if Agravain had picked up the slack in that department because he was kicking at every crystal that stuck out at him. He kicked one pierce so hard that a chunk flew off and hit Morgan in the back of her head. She immediately turned around and started slapping him with the leather straps of her medicinal bag.

“Alright, alright. Keep moving. I want to get some sleep before sunrise,” Gaheris said as he nudged Morgan along.

“This was a horrible idea. There’s no end to this blasted forest! How do we even know we’re going the right way?” Agravain complained.

“I told you! The Hibernians make seasonal trips into the heart of Pictish territory. It’s our best bet. Also, believe it or not, but I’m drawing power from these crystals. I can feel it coursing through my veins. It’s making me sweat, actually. Damn! Are you guys hot?” Morgan said as she wiped under her neck.

“What are your powers, exactly? You know, besides possessing dogs to jump off cliffs,” Gaheris asked.

Rolling her eyes, Morgan divulged. “These concoctions I’m wearing around my bosom produce a variety of effects. The sand trap, as you already witnessed. I also have one that causes temporary blindness, one for paralysis, another for attracting hens for food, and another for convincing men they’re on fire.”

“Dear god,” Gaheris cringed.

“The rubies around my wrist were made from dragon tears. If I concentrate, I can conjure a scorching fire that burns scarlet red. I’m still a novice with my other abilities but I’m getting better. For instance, I once summoned a spell that gave me the strength to uproot a maple tree. Although I confess, I hate that enchantment. My back hurt like hell for days. I can cast illusions when people are at their worst. I can speak commands and understand almost every woodland creature if I put forth an effort. And unlike Merlin who can only see the future, I can peer into the past. That’s just for starters. Niviane says I have the potential to surpass even her,” Morgan boasted.

“Niviane is?” Gaheris said.

“The Lady of Lake Avalon. Over 400 years old and the greatest wizard the world’s ever seen. It’s who my mother’s been shipping me off to visit every summer for the past three years. Even Merlin can’t hold a candle to Niviane.”

“Is that why you killed my dog? Because of this inexplicable malice for Merlin the magician?” Gaheris barked.

“This again…” Morgan sighed.

“Silence!” Agravain hissed “Enemy afoot!”

With the jut of his chin, Agravain called attention to a horde of blue goblins feeding on the carcass of an ill-fated mule. They were three hundred yards out. These goblins had skinny bodies like skeletons with reflective fish scales, long pointy ears and razor sharp claws. Ten of them were feasting while six others were trying to mate.

Their options were limited. Goblins were vicious creatures that could turn hostile in an instant. They were more agile than spider monkeys so outrunning them in the web of downed branches and razor sharp vines was suicidal in and of itself. The brothers had the same thought. They didn’t have to discuss it. Years of fighting side-by-side rewarded them with that kind of telepathy. In unison, the brothers stepped out in front of their horses and prepared for battle.

“Wait!” Morgan smirked with anticipation. “Let me show off a little.”

Morgan spread out her arms and twirled her fingers towards two sinkholes of milky water flanking the sides of the trail. As she blew in through her lips with a whirling suction, a gust of wind howled, shaking the tree branches and causing a shower of crystals to rain down.

The goblins were spooked. At once, they stopped feeding and started rambling with a confused “hoobling” noise. They turned and spotted the humans. Flashing their fangs, the goblins set off running like apes, pounding the ground with their knuckles and flat boney feet.

Agravain drew his Roman broadswords while Gaheris stretched an arrow through his bow. Morgan whispered an incantation that spewed from her lips like a gust of white frosty air. The powdery air twirled and split into two threads, quickly flowing through her outstretched fingers and down into the sinkholes of milky turquoise water. After bubbling for two seconds, geysers erupted straight up, causing the brothers to recoil with fright.

Water rushed up and gathered to form a massive dome. It remained hardened for only a few seconds before streaming down and materializing into six fearsome warriors riding on the backs of winged stallions. These were enchanted horsemen controlled by Morgan’s own mind. They were solid and chiseled as if carved from dripping wet blue marble.

These magnificent horses neighed with a vibrating siren that sent shockwaves throughout the entire forest. With the fury of madmen, the warriors flew down the trail directly into the midst of the goblin. Morgan moved like a possessed dancer the way she shimmied her hips and twirled with the fingers of a puppet master.

The goblins screamed and shrieked as the warriors fought them with fearsome barbarity. Some managed to evade the low sweeping swords. These angry goblins continued on towards the trio and Agravain was more than willing to engage.

With a sword in both hands, Agravain dashed with bloodlust and excitement. The goblins attacked with sharp claws and powerful jaws, but Agravain was too swift, too nimble, too skilled. His swords had a mind of their own the way they found exposed limbs and hacked at joints. Hard thrusts and stabs were aimed at the core, and he didn’t hesitate for a second to mete out his own coup-de-grâce.

Meanwhile, arrows whistled by Agravain’s ear as a few goblins were sniped from a distance. Gaheris was picking them off one by one. His hand was steady, his eyes unblinking. Gaheris was a sentry, standing guard as Morgan continued her magical dance.

From his left, two screaming goblins sprung from the bushes in a loud shatter and a burst of blue dust. Gaheris calmly turned and shot the closest one in its face. He used his bow to parry the claws of the second goblin and countered by hip tossing it to the ground. Pinning the creature with a knee to its back, Gaheris promptly drove an arrow through the base of its skull. By the time he looked to check on his brother, it was over.

Dead goblins were strewn about. The winged horsemen had returned to puddles and Agravain was wiping sticky blood off of his swords with the tail end of his cloak. Morgan seemed pleased. She was glistening with sweat and panting with bated breath.

“Not bad,” she said with pride.

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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 5 – The Next Case (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 5, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Original Stories, Slave Quarters. Tagged: augusta, augusta georgia, Cloud Beaudry, detective novel, online mystery, southern mystery, The Slave Quarters. Leave a comment

On the outskirts of Augusta, Georgia, the bodies of five young women are found on the slave quarters of abandoned plantations. Initially, Jessica Arroyo and Leanne Donaldson of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation are assigned to investigate but Cloud insists on getting involved. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the ladies to handle a case of this magnitude, but he recognizes the name of the local lead detective. The last thing he wants is for history to repeat itself.

Chapter 5 - The Next Case

Chapter 5: The Next Case
By Rock Kitaro

It’s half past one when I return to the 4th floor of GBI headquarters. It looks like Jessica has claimed the cubicle next to Leanne, just one seat away from me.

…Splendid…

While I was at the library, Leanne gave Jessica the grand tour of GBI facilities. Leanne went to great lengths to impress the new recruit with her clout and extensive knowledge of statistics. They seem to have hit off like old besties united.

Jessica…It’s been five years but I can tell the prime of your life will carry well into your fifties. From her awkward smile and kind laughter, Jessica’s already figured out that Leanne’s inappropriate workplace humor doesn’t just stop at the occasional one-liner. Like everyone else, Jessica made up her mind to get used to it. Wise, Ms. Arroyo. Very wise. You have indeed matured. And here I am, gawking at you from the hallway with hooded eyes like a hungry velociraptor stalking a foolhardy zookeeper.

“You’ll get used to how loud everyone is on the phone. And if you really need to get away, I usually step into one of the conference rooms. Hahaha! You might need to do that from time to time,” Leanne says, speaking twice as loud as everyone else.

Jessica is still unpacking to decorate the cubicle as she replies with, “That’s good to know. I’m not too worried about it. I grew up in a house full of women. You had to learn to sleep through loud raggae-ton playing all hours of the night. This doesn’t even compare.”

“Oh? So you have a big family?”

“Oh yes!” Jessica says as she sets a picture of herself and another young woman.

“Is that your sister?”

“My baby Angel. Haha, literally. Her name is Angel. She’s starting her final semester at Georgia Tech.”

“Kudos! I have sisters. But ones a stingy bitch and the others a coke whore. So what are you going to do?” Leanne says as if she’s talking about spilled milk.

“Oh! That’s not good,” Jessica says, keeping her chin tucked to hide her high brows.

“Tell me about it! I was on assignment when my mom died two years ago and by the time I came back, these airheads had already squandered our inheritance on a busted up house on the Southside. They wanted to flip it and turn a profit. But really, what they meant was that they wanted me to do all the work, hire the contractors, coordinate with HOA. Girl! I don’t have time for that?” Leanne says, giggling at the absurdity.

“So what did you do with it?” Jessica asks.

“I fixed it up a little and let them live in it. They’re paying rent until I recover on the construction costs.”

“Very smart!” Jessica nods with an approving grin.

“That’s right. I might be an old bird but I still know how to make lemonade out of life! Hahaha!” Leanne boasts.

“You’re not old, Leanne,” I say, approaching with sweat beginning to muster.

The ladies turn in unison. The instant I lock eyes with Jessica, time stops. Sparks fly and that warm sensation of heartfelt adoration washes over. That’s not to sound romantic. I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying to stay on my guard. My poker face is rock solid. I don’t know what she’s been up to all these years and I don’t want to give her the upper hand by showing all my cards like I used to.

However, this is unexpected. Here I am, thinking some unsettled dispute would surface. But Jessica’s caring eyes settle on me with such joy. It’s like she actually missed me. A snort escapes from her cupped laughter before the woman glides over and wraps me in an embracing hug. So warm. Her smooth cheeks press against mine. I feel the air in her lungs, the heartbeat against my chest. Even as I raised my arms to hug her back, I exercise caution. My palms graze the toned muscles in her back ever so lightly and I confess, I simply melt.

“What uh…what’s going on here?” Leanne asks as she and several onlookers were dying to know.

Jessica releases me. I straighten out my blazer and try to get a hold of myself.

“I’ve known Cloud since forever. He’s like the brother I never had. Seriously, he’s probably the most decent man I’ve ever met. You probably noticed, right? Let me guess. Annoyingly polite. Always apologizing. Self-sacrificing. The kind of guy who would give up the last chair just so you could sit. The epitome of chivalry. I’m sorry! Hahaha! I’m just so happy to see you! I can’t believe it!” She says, cupping her mouth with jovial laughter.

“Jessica. Good grief,” I mutter in a deep blush.

The office curiosity is satisfied. Her description of me settles in their mind that I’m locked in the “friend-zone,” an idea they’re more than willing to tolerate.

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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 4 – My Equal (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 3, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Slave Quarters. Tagged: books, Cloud Beaudry, friendly crush, love crush, millennials, my equal, mystery, online mystery, unrequited love. Leave a comment

The brilliant Jessica Arroyo has just transferred into Cloud’s unit at the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Ever since he was fifteen he’s had a crush on this girl who’s bested him at everything he wanted to accomplish. Back in high school she was the valedictorian. The popular girl who could get any man she wanted while he was the odd bookworm voted most likely to shoot up the school.

Now…she’s back in his life again. Cloud isn’t the man he used to be and he’s still got business with Maggie. In his heart of hearts, Cloud knows Jessica’s inquisitive enough to figure out what he’s been up to for the past five years. It’d be a shame, really. If something were to happen to her.

Chapter 4 - My Equal
The Slave Quarters
By: Rock Kitaro

“Jessica Arroyo is a woman who…”

It’s odd. How to describe her? My honesty opinions and the facts might disagree with each other. So I opt to tell Miranda everything and trust that she’ll understand and tell it to me straight.

“As you know, I don’t particularly have a fond opinion of my fellow Millennials. I believe we are easily influenced. I believe we are forgetful of significant history. And I believe we think we are selfish individualists who refuse to see the big picture if it goes against our own personal ambitions. That being said, I don’t see myself as one of them. You’re probably the only person I’ll admit this to, but yes, I honestly do think most Millennials are beneath me. However, there is but one of my fellow peers who I can honestly say I see as my equal. Her name is Jessica Arroyo.”

“And she is?”

“An infection, a persistent virus that never truly leaves the body. It’s only suppressed and contained by isolation and time away from irritant exposure. Jessica and I graduated from the same school, always competed academically. I’ve had a crush on her since I was fifteen, which was depressing as I watched her date asshole after asshole. She was one of the most popular girls in the school, magically excelling at everything while I was the fat loser who kept my nose buried in the books. If that’s not bad, she even beat me out to take the valedictorian spot while I was salutatorian. And to make matters worse, by pure friggin happenstance, she ended up attending the same college, enrolling in the same programs, same classes, the same degree. It was horrible. Alright, it wasn’t horrible, but it was tormenting.”

“I’m confused. Are you jealous of her? Or are you in love with her?” Miranda asks, making light of the predicament.

“Neither! I think every man has a certain point in which they’ve seen the love of their life passed between too many dudes. That ship has sailed.”

Miranda starts to snicker but I continue in a mindless prattle.

“That ship has sailed! Moreover, beauty like that has a way of ensnaring a man. The problem resides in the fact that, like me, she’s a natural born detective. You should have heard her thesis in our criminology classes. With every answer she gave, it’s like she was taking the words right out of my mouth. People always seem to be so puzzled. It confounds them to understand the motives of killers and con artists, but like me, Jessica just gets it. This leads me to believe that beneath her happy-go-lucky façade, her heart is just as dark as my own. She’s just better as hiding it.”

“I’m telling you, Miranda. Her immense beauty belies the fact that she is extremely intelligent. She knows me. More than that, she always used to think we were friends, which freaking sucks because it’s with types like that where if you push her away it’ll only create more questions in which she won’t stop until she gets to the bottom of it. She was there the morning after Maggie’s first kill. She was there when I came back from my mother’s funeral. If I’m not careful…”

…I want to say I might have to get rid of her but I refrain.

“Sounds like all this went down years ago. What? Is the bitch back?”

“Yes. Leanne’s probably finishing up the grand tour as we speak. I saw her, Miranda. She’s still so flawless,” I say, utterly hopelessness.

Miranda chuckles over her lime soda. “It ain’t easy being Cloud Beaudry, is it? Would you like my advice?”

“Please,” I invite with open palms.

“Sounds to me like you just need to get it out of your system. Hit that once and you’ll be all right. Trust me. Won’t even look at her the same way.”

It’s not what I wanted to hear.

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What’s the Point of Being Beautiful?

Posted by Rock Kitaro on September 2, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Food for Thought. Tagged: a good man, attraction, beauty, dating, most beautiful woman in the world, red pill essay, what is beautiful, women in their thirties. Leave a comment

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What is the point of possessing such beauty? Is there a point? Does it matter? I believe so. First off, to understand what I’m about to say, one must be resign themselves to a couple of notions.

The first notion is that there is no guarantee that everyone will be loved in this world. The second is vanity and self-consciousness exists and while I won’t say there’s nothing wrong with it, I will say that they can be used for good.

Recently, I saw an Instagram post from one of my favorite Instagram models where she mentioned that she planned on looking for a good man in 10 years, but first she wanted to have her fun. Surprisingly, I’ve notice a lot of beautiful women on Instagram with thousands of followers having the same philosophy. I see them traveling the world. They post some of the most cliché quotes under revealing photos of themselves. And they all seem to desire the same thing. That elusive, “good man”.

One could say here, “well, those are just Instagram models. Their view of reality is a tad bit distorted because they receive so much of their validation online that they don’t think to seek it from people in the real world.”

Is that true?

Because…one could argue that the same validation Instagram models receive, are also received by women who regularly use dating sites like Tinder and OKCupid. Already, I’ve read a number of articles where women have admitted that they have no intentions on finding dates or partners through the dating sites, but more so use it as a “pick-me-up” throughout the day, like hit of whiskey in the form of adoration from men just to remind them that they are indeed beautiful and wanted.

Everything I’m saying right now…I want you to know that I’m not complaining. I’m not asking people to change nor will I tell them their worldview is right or wrong. These are just observations and a premonition of what’s to come based on my own opinion. That being said, lets get back to that first question.

What is the point of being beautiful?

Here’s my theory… Beauty is the gift given to us in order to attract a mate. I honestly feel that’s it’s the number one purpose. I won’t go so far as to say it’s the sole (only) purpose. But I think that’s why you have it. The problem is…beauty fades with time.

This isn’t to say that you will one day be ugly or no longer be seen as beautiful. But what I’m saying is that the beauty you once possessed in your youth, will fade as you grow older. Depending on your genes and how well you take care of yourself, you can hold on and maintain that beauty for decades. But that’s going to take work as well as the acknowledgment that your beauty will indeed fade. However, and sadly I don’t believe a lot of women do acknowledge this.

I think that there’s a great deal of women who are mature enough to handle the reality. That after they’ve had their “fun” they will have no choice but to settle on men that they would have never thought they’d end up getting married to. And these women go on to live happy and fulfilled lives, because they’ve accepted this. But will all women accept it? Do most women acknowledge it?

So, if it sounds like I’m picking on women here, forgive me. There’s a reason why I’m highlighting women when it comes to beauty. Again, this is just a theory. And you can say, “all I hear are theories and conjectures” and be absolutely right. But trust me when I say I’m not alone in seeing this. A lot of men have come to the same realization, but for these men to speak out, they’ll be hit with “MISOGYNY!” and other attacks on their character for simple just thinking about it.

The thing is, women and men are different. As much as the media and mainstream figures have been trying to break down gender roles and what not, any person with an ounce of common sense can tell you that on a general level, men and women are different. And that’s actually a good thing! Believe it or not, it is. Men and women are supposed to compliment each other. Men are strong, but not in all areas. And believe it or not, women are stronger in ways that men are not. This should be celebrated and appreciated. Not demeaned and frowned upon.

I believe that men are visual creatures. We see something that looks good and want it. I believe that women are visual creatures as well. But most women don’t just see the superficial, they watch for certain qualities whereas men mainly see red flags, not precisely an exact quality that they want. Just what they know they “don’t want.” For instance, if you ask a man what they looked for in a woman beyond her appearance… they’d probably take a moment to think about it. Whereas, I’m willing to bet women could tell you right away, right off the top of her head.

The thing is, times have changed. Once upon a time, a man was celebrated for his bravery, strength and work ethic by going out, building his home, defending it, and providing for his family, protecting his wife, raising his sons and daughters to be respectable, contributing members of society.

Now…the world has become so modernized where machines take care of basically everything a man would have once had to do to display his prowess, unless you’re a policeman, soldier, professional athlete, or any other kind of figure of authority. How then, is a man supposed to display his masculine qualities?

This is actually important. More than I think people seem to realize. Humans aren’t alone in this regard. Anyone who’s seen a nature documentary can tell you that nearly every animal in the animal kingdom has these rites of passage when it comes to mating. Deer, bovines, canines, and even felines fight amongst themselves for the right to mate with the females. Birds put on colorful and elaborate displays to attract a mate. Fish and sharks use pheromones. Etc.

The point is, every animal has some kind of instinctual mechanism to attract a mate. As humans, men were able to do this by showing themselves strong, capable, and dependable. I believe women were able to do this by…their beauty. Yes, we also admire women for their feminine qualities such as the strength it takes to nurture, and believe me, it does take strength. Some men can’t handle being in a room with their sick loved ones, it’s too emotionally distressing, while a woman does have a strength to be right there and not turn away. There are so many qualities women possess that men lack. And vice versa.

But in order for men and women to get to know each other and learn whether or not they have the desired qualities for a long-term relationship, whether or not we’re compatible, we first have to attract each other.

As I’m sure many of you know, men have taken a beating in recent years due to the horrible actions of a few assholes, resulting in the MeToo Movement, and before that, the CatCalling Video. Inadvertently, this has made men more reluctant to approach and even talk to women. And the sad thing is, it seems many women have yet to put two and two together. To this day, it seems women still think men are afraid to talk to women because we’re afraid of rejection. We’re not.

What we are, is afraid of getting fired. Any man who’s gone to college has a student loan debt to bear. I’d say about 70% of us have worked ceaselessly through our twenties and well into our thirties to reduce that debt.

Women have the same debt too, you might say. But traditionally, which of us has the embedded responsibility to provide for our families? The Men? Or the Women? These days, I acknowledge that mainstream society is pushing for both men and women to do so, but many of us men who were raised by parents who could not have possibly predicted the current turn of events, have instilled in their sons that they are to be the head of the household. That it is their responsibility to be the primary bread-winner. And if you’re a true Christian, even the Bible says this.

Again, these aren’t complaints. I acknowledge. I accept. And here comes the premonition. Brace yourselves…it looks bleak.

By the time men have established themselves, cut their debt in half, and are in a position to finally get married and provide for a family…well…We’ll be attracted to beautiful women. But as I said. Beauty fades. Not to mention, times change. What’s acceptable today probably won’t be in ten years. And on the same token, what’s unacceptable today, people will probably be more tolerant to in the future. Gosh…I’m almost afraid to type what I really want to say here…

Let me put it this way. Think of all the old time couples, of men and women who are in their sixties and up and have managed to stay married. I’ve been blessed with plenty of these role models in my life, so I know it’s possible. If you hear the men talk about their wives, they’d tell you that she is still the most beautiful woman to him. And it gets me thinking.

I believe that beauty is like the hook that draws in the catch. And once the catch is made, it is only then that love can manifest. I believe it’s this kind of unconditional love that allows a man to stay with his woman forever. It’s this kind of love that enables the man to believe he’s with the most beautiful woman in the world no matter how fat she gets, no matter what injury befalls her, no matter what mental disability she’s inflicted with. This is love.

But first…beauty must reel in the catch. Bringing me back to my favorite Instagram model. This idea of “I just want to have fun for ten years and then look for a “good man”. In my heart of hearts, I truly hope she’s just saying this. Meaning, I hope she has no idea what she’s really talking about or what she really means. I truly hope that what she means is, she just wants to have fun until she finds the man who shows her that he’s the one she really wants to spend the rest of her life with. That’s what I hope.

Because this Instagram model…she’s already in her late 20s. And she’s somewhat on the heavy side (I like curvy women). So I can somewhat imagine what she’s going to look like in ten years and sadly, “beautiful” would not be the first adjective that comes to mind. I’m just being real here.

“Well what about men! Men also gonna turn into big fat slobs and they aren’t exactly Brad Pitts as they get older.”

True…this is true. However, when it comes to men and women, to whom is beauty more important? And be honest. Look around at the married couples you know. When you get their wives alone and ask them if they think they’re husbands are the sexiest, most handsome men alive…I’d say it’s about a 50-50 chance of them saying yes. And that’s me being generous on those odds.

I can tell you from personal experience in talking with grown married women, either family or close associates where they’ll admit, that their men were average looking, but the love manifested in other ways. Like through the man’s charm, charisma, their competence, their ambition, their authority, their experience, their leadership, their virtue.

Ladies…these qualities aren’t bound by the concepts of time. For some men, they develop these qualities as they grow older, and for some, they lose them as they get older. But either way, beauty, isn’t the word most commonly associated with men. It’s rare. That’s why you have the phenomena where hordes of women go after a single man and its seen as normal in the public. Like women screaming over Justin Bieber, or Robert Pattinson, or any other pop idol. They are like jewelry. Rare. So women have no qualms competing for the same thing even though there are other gems free for the taking.

So…essentially, what I’m saying is that beauty fades with time and you shouldn’t take it for granted. You can if you want. But I’d just hate for you to be in your mid to late thirties, searching for that “good man” while those same men are drawn to what we’ve always been drawn to…beauty.

And when I said that what’s acceptable today probably won’t be in ten years… It’s my theory that the next generation won’t be on board with the ideologies of today’s third-wave feminists. I suspect that they’ll reject the idea of abolishing traditional gender roles and they will seek men who possess traditional, assertive, masculine qualities.

Thus…I fully suspect that while women are in their thirties looking for the “good men”…the “good men” in their thirties would have found their beautiful brides who are still in their mid to early twenties. I believe prenups will be signed on a regular basis to protect these men from giving up half their stuff in the event of a no-fault divorce. And I suspect there will be a great deal of sadness for everyone failing honor the concept of commitment.

Anyways…these are just my thoughts on the matter. I could be wrong. However, if you think I’m alone in these observations, I encourage you to look on Youtube at the channels of Sargon of Akkod, of Sandman, of Entrepreneurs in Cars and other MGTOW and Red Pill Channels. If you don’t know what MGTOW or Red Pill Men are, I encourage you to explore. As a Christian Conservative, I read about their ideologies and it makes me smile to know, “I’m not the only one seeing this shit.”

At the same time, I really do wish there was a greater conversation about their beliefs. Not just amongst men, but women. For all the clichés and crap men get about not listening or caring about Women’s Issues…haha…let’s just say in order for the thousands of men to comment on such issues…we at least had to hear what your arguments were in the first place. This requires listening. Mulling it over for a second. And then coming to our own conclusions.

And coming to your own conclusion…that’s the key. That’s called taking personal responsibility. Even if your conclusions coincide with the speaker, the point is, you’ve made a conscientious decision to make up your own mind. Everything I’ve said in this little essay…I don’t know if its an accurate portrayal of the future or of the general behaviors of men and women. These are just theories, written thoughts.

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The Knights With No Lords: Chapter 4 – Fool Me Once…(Fantasy Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on August 31, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Knights With No Lords. Tagged: Fantasy fiction, King Arthur, Knights With No Lords, morgan fiction, Morgan le Fay, new stories, online books, online chapters, Tristan and Isolde, Young knights. Leave a comment

Gaheris and Morgan hash out their childhood grudge and once again, a furious Tristan stands in their way.

Then we join Gawain …the very lad Morgan so desperately wants to rescue. He’s riding in a convoy with his Hibernian captors, led by the 21-year-old Princess Isolde herself. Even though he’s assigned to be her bodyguard, Isolde makes it clear that if he tries to flee, she’ll put an arrow through his back. Gawain knows she’s capable of it.

Chapter 4 - Artwork by Wojtek Fusartwork by Wojtek Fus

Chapter 4 – Fool Me Once
By Rock Kitaro

Iron – “Rock Bottom”https://stageinthesky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/1-03-rock-bottom.mp3

In the dead of the night, the torches were doused. Calm had settled. With just the pale moon reflecting off of the wet stone walls, Morgan led the brothers Agravain and Gaheris through the slums of Tintagel. The strong stench of urine and ale was nauseating, but they expected no less from the plebs.

Drunken sailors were passed out on almost every corner. For some reason, a black crow kept following the trio as if it was keeping tabs on them. It made sure to perch on every business sign before releasing a piercing caw, stiffening the hairs on the back Gaheris’s neck. He was very much tempted to shoot it down.

Instead of riding their horses, they guided their steeds by the reins, walking them ever so slowly to mind the clacking of the hooves. All three were covered in dark wool hoods.

Morgan, the determined seventeen-year-old enchantress with her obedient horse, Vebby.

Agravain, the emboldened fourteen-year-old armed with two Roman broadswords sheathed under the round shield on his back.

And Gaheris, the annoyed fifteen-year-old archer who wasn’t entirely on board with Morgan’s plan. He felt it lacked sufficient details. Well…either it lacked details or Morgan was deliberately withholding them.

Leaving on a moment’s notice, Gaheris had no choice but to steal back the handcrafted bow he made for King Mark. His quiver was jam-packed with razor sharp arrows. A lightweight short sword was strapped to his waist. And as that gut-wrenching feeling began to churn in his stomach, he chuckled with a hopeless smirk.

“What’s that, Constantine? Oh it’s funny you should ask. I’m only about to sneak out of one of the most impregnable fortresses the world’s ever seen. Why, you ask? That’s funny too. You see, whenever someone promises the liberation of my brother, I’m almost bound by sacred oath to venture forth. Ogres, you say? Errant knights and elfish demons galore? Nah, I’m not scared of all that. It’s my brother, you see. He’d want this. He’d want me to venture forth and–”

“For crying out loud, Gaheris! Do you want get caught or don’t you?” Morgan snapped.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. Just keep walking before I change my mind. And why such haste? I’d feel a lot better if we had more time to prepare,” Gaheris grumbled.

“It must be tonight. The rest of the lords will be returning home in the morning. It’ll be buzzing with activity so no one will think to look for us. This will give us enough time to make distance before they figure out we’re gone,” Morgan whispered.

“Well it’s a good thing we arrived when we did, isn’t it. Or did your foresee such events and expect it? Wait, am I under a spell right now? Go on. Tell me. I won’t get mad. I promise,” Gaheris sulked.

“Such spite and for what?” Morgan said, rolling her eyes.

“He still blames you for killing Merlin,” Agravain snickered.

Gaheris let out a harsh guttural growl.

Morgan sighed, “Honestly, Gaheris. That was years ago. Won’t you forgive me?”

When he didn’t respond, she glanced over. His frown made her spit with laughter.

Gaheris threw up his hands. “That’s it. I’m out!”

“Wait! Stop!” Morgan whispered as she tackled Gaheris and Agravain into a pile of hay.

Two patrol officers were passing by. It was odd. They heard the muffled noise of but completely overlooked the fact that they were three idle horses left unattended to. It was their duty to return them to the stables on the other side of the castle, but that must have been way too much trouble. The patrol continued on and pretended not to see them.

As soon as the patrol was out of sight, a disgruntled Gaheris emerged from the hay and began pulling straw from his hair. “All I’m saying is Merlin didn’t deserve to die. It was childish.”

“Well. In my defense, I was a child,” Morgan noted.

“No! You knew better!”

“It was just a stupid dog!” Agravain stressed.

“You’re on your own. Good luck!” Gaheris said with the snap of his fingers.

Agravain latched on to Gaheris’s shoulder and quickly realized Gaheris was serious by the way he yanked himself free. Morgan hurried over and stared up at Gaheris with remorse in her eyes. She pouted and released something of a whimper. Gaheris knew it was an act but appreciated that she was at least trying.

“I’m sorry, Gaheris. Truly, I am. Please come with us. We could use your strength, your cunning, your guile.”

“Tell me, why do you care so much? He’s not your brother. He’s barely a nephew.”

Morgan squinted as if she was prepared to slap him. “How can you possibly say that? I love your brother as I love you. We’re family. If you or Aggie were captured I’d make the same fuss. Honestly, I never knew you to be so heartless.”

Gaheris turned to Agravain. “And you’re set on this, are you?”

“It’s been too long, brother. I know you feel the same. It’s time for Gawain to come back.”

CLICK TO CONTINUE READING

 

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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 3 – Meritocracy (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on August 27, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Original Stories, rock kitaro, Slave Quarters. Tagged: Cloud Beaudry, creative writing, fiction, GBI fiction, ghost stories, ghost story, new book, new stories, online chapters, online mystery, paranormal, paranormal curse, Slave Quarters, The Slave Quarters, writing. Leave a comment

For those still scrambling for the pieces, allow me to introduce special investigator, Cloud Beaudry. When people think of spoiled, entitled, Millennials with bad work ethics who complain about everything…let’s just say that Cloud forces everyone to rethink those stereotypes. And it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s tormented by a curse that allows him to hear and see ghosts all the friggin time. And of course, when you know secrets that are supposed to be buried, you tend to make enemies among the living.

Five years ago his mother was killed and the local police was quick to pass it off as an accidental suicide. It was a dark, depressing time in his life where Cloud was on the verge of ending it all. Then he met Maggie. And for seemingly no reason at all, she helped him avenge the death of his mother. Cloud was grateful. So grateful, in fact, that he vowed to hunt down those responsible for killing Maggie back in 1959. And unfortunately, there are still names on the list.

Chapter 3 - Meritocracy

Chapter 3 – Meritocracy
By Rock Kitaro

It’s a brisk morning, just before the auburn glow makes its ascent. I was once told that this is the best part of my day and it goes downhill from here. But that’s just a matter of perspective, one I choose not to entertain. There’s nothing like busting out a 5K at five in the morning. There’s no one around. Barely any traffic. With Korn’s “Take a Look in the Mirror” album blasting through my earbuds, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come. It doesn’t make me proud, it just… it strengthens my resolve. And I need that strength. Else I would have killed myself a long time ago.

For those still scrambling for the pieces, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cloud Beaudry. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always been able to hear, see, and feel the presence of the dead.

It started with my ancestors during the Salem Witch trials. The family matriarch wasn’t a witch herself, but was hanged for speaking up in their defense. Since then, a wretched curse has been passed down the Beaudry line from generation to generation.

This curse…you can call it a curse, however, I choose to believe it’s just some twisted sick coincidence. For instance, every generation in my family gave birth to just one scion. Every family member died before they reached the age of forty-five. And nearly everyone has been regarded by his or her peers as crazy or delusional. I’m probably the first to embrace the paranormal instead of letting it drive me insane.

To me, the traditional concepts of weird or normal are no longer relevant. I’ve trained this ability to interact with the dead so well that it’s now about as familiar as my sense of sight or sound. I know. It sounds unbelievable. That’s why there’s only one person on Earth I’ve told this to.

I’m only thirty but the atrocities I’ve faced have advanced me well beyond the years of any average Millennial. That might sound like I’m bragging but I’m not. Dread doesn’t even begin to describe my life. When I was growing up, I couldn’t remember a single night that I didn’t hear people screaming for help. Dark twisted faces, weeping dead children, relentless murderers and the toe curling sounds of ripping flesh and wet hacking…I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Dark eye circles of sleep deprivation stayed with me until I was at least twenty-one. It was during that year that something snapped in me. My mother. She was raped for the second time and nearly beaten to death. I’ll never forget sitting by her hospital bed with a permanent scowl lined with crusted dried tears. I never had any best friends. I never had a social life where people sought me out. But paranoia and fear followed me every day of my life almost as constant as the sun and the moon.

It was fear of letting shit like that happen to my mother again, the paranoia of forever being a loser, the butt of the jokes, and everyone’s punching bag. It was fear of failing to make something out of myself. The fear of going mad by watching the rotten assholes move up in the world while decent honest hardworking individuals are stepped on because they lack “ruthless ambition.”

I won’t say I embraced the fear. I only use it as motivation. I turned this negativity into a fuel for production. It’s what prompted me to take my fat ass in the gym and shed 140lbs over the span of four years. I dropped from 320lbs to a healthy, athletic180. Working out and martial arts became a source of therapy for me, an outlet for my frustration. It was fear that prompted me to stay in shape, which is why I’m on this exhilarating jog around my subdivision.

As far as my encounters with dead people, I’ll not go so far as to say I’m no longer terrified, but it’s more like I gradually adopted an air of defiance. I strengthened my mind and stopped worrying about what ghosts could or couldn’t do to me. I laid awake on countless nights watching the blinds rattle and the shadows crawl along the ceilings. Then I’d close my eyes and drift to sleep, fully aware that I may never wake up again. If any demented phantom stared at me from the fog or through some milky reflection or behind that dead tree in the distance, I’d glare right back at them.

If they wanted to kill me, they were more than welcome to try.

After my mother was raped, I switched majors and enrolled into law school. I would’ve preferred to send assholes off to prison as a prosecutor, but defense attorneys made way more money. The idea was to get a good paying job so my mother could quit waitressing and stop sleeping with every flannel-wearing cowboy who just so happens to throw a wink at her.

That plan went up in flames just days before I was about to graduate. After four years of endless studying, of sacrificing the holidays and weekends to climb my way to the top of my class, someone went off and killed my mother. Her body was found floating beneath a bridge on the outskirt of Athens.

The police heard about her promiscuous reputation with men. They also heard from neighbors and co-workers that she believed in aliens and claimed she could speak to ghosts. Eventually, the detectives ruled her death as an accidental suicide. They said she got drunk, bumped her head on the railing, and tumbled over to drown. She was only forty-two.

I can’t even begin to describe how livid I was. My worst fears had come true. This woman was my life! She was the reason why I toiled so hard, put up with so much shit, why I sacrificed so much. Nothing else mattered. We had come so far! Only for it to end like this!?

No one showed up for her funeral. It was just me and fifty white chairs on a cold rainy day. The rage in my heart, it forced me to ask questions no decent human being should ever need to ask themselves. The police were wrong. I knew it from the get-go but as a mere law-grad I was powerless to do a damn thing about it. The outcry of inner demons demanded an audience and to be honest, I was about ready end the torment once and for all. Perhaps it was hitting rock-bottom that lured me to Maggie.

Click to Continue Reading

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Knights with No Lords: Chapter 3 – The Violent Orphans (Fantasy Teen Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on August 24, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Knights With No Lords, Original Stories, rock kitaro. Tagged: Agravain, Arthurian Ficiton, fantasy, Gaheris, Knights With No Lords, Morgan le Fay, morgan le fay fiction, new stories, teen fiction, young adult fiction. Leave a comment

Brooding in the shadows, Morgan begins plotting her escape from Tintagel Castle. Under the watchful eye of Tristan, this is easier said than done. Then, a glimmer of hope shines through in the form of two teenage boys fresh from the battlefield.

Gaheris is an inquisitive playboy while Agravain’s an arrogant upstart who’s quick to draw his sword on even the slightest offense. The two make up Gawain’s little brothers and they’re the only ones Morgan can depend on to help her escape. Just be careful. There’s more to these brothers than meets the eye and the last thing you want to do is call them orphans. The castle lads find this out the hard way.

Chapter 3 - Orphans

Chapter 3 – The Violent Orphans
By Rock Kitaro

SIMS – “Crows” (Gaheris and Agravain’s theme)https://stageinthesky.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/10-crows.m4a

It wasn’t the first time Morgan was laughed out of a room, but still, it was getting old. The blatant disrespect for authority was no longer cute and she knew it. For two days, Morgan kept to the darkest towers where no one could find her. The cackle of Tristan’s laughter haunted her. She couldn’t shake the sight of his cold blue eyes staring down at her wherever she went. It was maddening.

In the depths of her despair, she wrote poems and limericks, scribbling down all the harm she wished upon him. She made a list of all the times the lion had foiled her plans and designed a punishment for each incident.

For hours, she stared at the ceiling from the stone cold floor and fantasized about beasts feeding on his carcass. She dreamt about his lengthy crucifixion. She smirked wondering how loud he’d scream if he had to burn at the stake. Such thoughts were therapeutic. It seemed to be the only way to pacify the screaming Furies chained within the depths of her heart.

For two nights, Morgan sulked in the shadows of the royal banquet hall. It was here that the Council of Gold Clovers held their lavish feasts, joking and laughing as if they weren’t just at each other’s throats mere moments earlier. Musicians played their fiddles and flutes. Squires dazzled their maidens. Wine drizzled from beards and wives dined on gossip.

The tables were arranged in a U-shaped formation with the king’s platform raised directly in the center. King Mark, Duchess Igraine and house royalty lauded Tristan for his bravery. Morgan watched it all with her back against the wall, glaring with torchlight blazing from her eyes. Their laughter made her sick. Their smiles made her snarl. She remembered a hundred dirty old men laughing at her, how Tristan called her insolent and mistempered.

She crossed her arms and grumbled, “You want mistempered? I’ll give you mistempered.”

While everyone was asleep, Morgan confined herself to one of the storage closets. Her tiny book of spells and potions were written with coded languages and symbols, made legible only to those trained in the arts of Lake Avalon. For hours, Morgan would grind crystals and brew concoctions in a black cauldron. She poured these shiny potions into small milky glass vials, tiny enough to fit into the pockets of dagger sleeves she planned to strap over her shoulder like a bandolier. If the men weren’t willing to save Gawain, Morgan was prepared to do it herself.

The third night…

It was the third night since Morgan was humiliated in front of the Council of Gold Clovers. It’s been three days since she saw the vision of Gawain chained in a ship. It was the final night of feasting, after which, the lords were scheduled to depart in the morning and return to their domains.

Again, Morgan stationed herself in the solace of the shadows. Then the giant doors of the banquet hall opened. The herald announced a new visitor. No one was paying attention. The music and revelry was so loud that no one heard.

“From the Kingdom of Lothian and Orkney, I give you Duke Tiburne and his companions, Gaheris and Agravain!” announced the herald.

A smile slowly surfaced for the first time in so long that Morgan’s cheeks began to hurt. The loud crash of shattered wood got everyone’s attention. King Mark’s longtime herald was a large man, well over three hundred pounds. And yet, a fourteen-year-old pup of a lad was now standing over him, having just broken a chair across the herald’s back.

“That’s not how you say my name, you idiot. It’s Agra-vain. I’d commit it to memory if I were you.”

“Vain, you say? You have it right!” Jonah of Mon scolded.

Agravain looked the baron up and down before walking on, as if he didn’t have time to address every shit stain he happened to come across.

– Click to Continue Reading

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The Slave Quarters: Chapter 2 – Horrid Sounds (Mystery Thriller)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on August 20, 2018
Posted in: About the Author, Cloud Beaudry, Original Stories, rock kitaro. Tagged: Cloud Beaudry, ghost stories, ghost story, haunted murder, haunting, new books, new stories, online chapters, rock kitaro, Slave Quarters, The Slave Quarters. Leave a comment

Florence meets Maggie. Or rather…they’ve already met. And last time Florence checked, Maggie was dead.

Warning: Contains a Graphic Haunting

Chapter 2 - Horrid Sounds

Chapter 2 – Horrid Sounds
by Rock Kitaro

Florence gets an uneasy four hours of sleep before waking up in a cold sweat. It’s just a few minutes past midnight. Her throat is parched but it’s the discomfort from her drenched blue nightgown that prompts her to open her weary eyes. She doesn’t get up right away. She’s too tired. The AC is set to 70 degrees on an already frigid November evening but her bedroom feels moist and warm. So she lies there, contemplating if she should try and sleep through it.

It isn’t until she raises her knee that her heel drags along the bed. She feels an alarming puddle of fluids as if her foot was sinking into a soggy sponge mattress. She sits up, whipping off her sheets with a frantic gasp before the cracking bones in her back reminds her of her age. Shadow stripes from the window blinds line across her face as she sits on the edge of the bed, planting her balmy feet to the wooden floor.

She wipes the bangs from her forehead with a puzzled look. The beads of perspiration once there was now gone. She reaches over and slides a hand across the sand colored bed sheets. It’s dry. She checks the dent in her pillow. It too is dry.

After a soft confusing chuckle, a relieved Florence lies back down and pulls the sheets over her body. As soon as she does, a thousand fingers rush up from the mattress desperately trying to grip at her flesh from her shoulders down to her ankles in a straight line like a tidal wave approaching the shores of her body. The fingers stay submerged under the bed sheets but violate her with the unnerving strength of a groping maniac trying to peel at her wrinkled skin.

Florence gapes open with a groaning shriek. Entire hands jolt through the sheets to wrap around her legs, slithering, grabbing, closer and closer up her thighs like a determined molester on a mission. In a frantic struggle, Florence’s thrashes herself off the bed.

She lands in a hard thud before crawling to the wall. Her heart’s racing. She’s crazy-eyed and panting like a jarhead in boot camp. The patio light goes dim. She reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. It’s not working. The digital clock says zeros in all slots.

Suddenly, the entire house begins to tremor. Rocks grind with the loud tenacity of a jackhammer on cement. The wooden floorboards crack and splinter as they shift and bend upward of their own volition. The walls contract, popping streams of chalky white plaster like water bursting from a pool. A web of cracks stretch across the windows and the bed sheets bulge as if a monstrous anaconda was emerging, slithering from one corner of her bed to the other, slowly approaching Florence.

“AAAAAAAAACK! NO!”

The defiant shout comes from the other side of the closed bedroom door. It was a deep bass-heavy voice, hollow and it echoes. Splintering bangs boomed one after another. As if someone was pounding a nail gun into the floor.

“NO! NO! AAHAAYAK!!! OW-HOW-HOW-HOW!!!”

Florence’s imagination takes her to a dark place where murky death invaded and demanded her attention. All of her worst fears consume her at once.

The screams get louder, more desperate, more dire. The hard mechanical pumps of the nail gun were driving sharp metal into someone’s flesh. She hears it, the tearing of tendons, the wet patter of blood splattering on the floor. The harsh guttural cry was from her husband… Her husband! Florence recognized the voice to be that of James Leach crying out in agony.

“JAMES!!!” She screams.

“RUN” James screams back.

Click to Continue Reading

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