Get started on this exciting adventure with Goblins: Born in Blood today!
The Epic of Cruhand the Rat King Killer
This is the story of a brave fighter.
He was a warrior from a land afar.
From the dark mysterious mountains.
In a land bathed in ever burning flame.
Where the dragons once ruled for an ion.
A place where only the strongest may live.
Where the weak are devoured by evil.
He was born with the blood of the dragon.
He grew up with a thirst for adventure.
His foes shook when they heard his name; Cruhand.
I, Rick James the Silver Tongue, first knew him,
Escaping from Rheek the Rat King’s sewer.
He and his brave band of adventurers
Were hacking and slashing their way inside.
I thought I was doomed with rats and ogres
Blocking my exit from the wretched place.
But ignoring the danger they attacked.
With much ferocity the foes were felled.
Shortly, before me lay our enemies.
With introductions I joined the party.
Their goal and now mine was to kill the Rat
So returning from whence I came we went.
And pushed through a space made for stinky rats.
Before we emerged on the other side
We were waylaid by a group of green slimes.
Cruhand and the rest went on the attack,
And our draconic hero was swallowed.
The slime began to digest his hard hide.
But succumbed to his fiery breath.
Slimes melted like jello we continued.
We journeyed into a pit for Rheek’s pet.
And nearly snuck by it undetected.
But the beast awoke and quickly attacked.
And Cru just laughed at the challenge at hand.
And pounded the beast with fist, breath and tail.
Bravely we fought the hideous creature.
Its tentacles whipped and smacked us around.
All the while Cru had his mark on the fiend.
Taunting it and teasing it to attack.
In bloody cries fell both hero and beast.
We gathered round to examine the mess
Fearing Cruhand had succumbed to his wounds,
The beast laying slaughtered covered in blood,
Cru faintly mumbled to hand him his hat.
Alive but injured there was one option.
We would bring our friend and cure his wounds.
I used my cunning to bluff by the guards.
Leading the team until Cru could be healed.
We disposed of more guards and fought gargoyles.
Finally resting in the Rat’s own nest.
With aid from me and a grumpy cleric
Cru was recovered and ready to kill.
Down hallways and into a room with ogres,
Cru yelled “plan A” and charged in with no fear.
Surrounded he fought in front and in back.
While I bluffed an ogre so cleverly.
The dragon man roared and spit holding tight.
Swinging and charging no thought for safety.
Cru and the group slaughtered all that challenged.
Countless guards and ogres met their demise.
I intercepted a guard getting help.
Enduring bolts from his deadly crossbow.
Evading him by crawling like a rat,
I quickly made my way to the prison.
With my grand silver tongue I bluffed the guards
Into releasing an ally they held.
But before I could escape with the man,
The archer fired a bolt in my back.
With battle raging, me nearly beaten,
Cruhand and group arrived and crushed them all.
Nearly to our goal I tricked all the guards
To think that Cruhand was heading away.
With madness they chased up to the surface.
Leaving us to find Rheek in his throne room.
But “Plan A” failed us as turning the door,
Dropped us into a pit with rot grub beasts.
The worms tried to eat their way through our skin,
But they could not overcome the dragon!
Cruhand burned the worms with his fire breath.
He crawled from the pit even angrier.
He burst through the door finally at his goal.
Guards and ogres would not stop him this time.
Too many times had Rheek escaped his fate.
The party made quick work of others there.
And Cruhand charged the Rat King on his throne.
His foot in an iron boot he fought on.
His hat looking magnificent as always.
Missing time after time, not losing heart,
He kept fighting, not accepting defeat.
Finally the Rat King died at his feet.
But Cruhand’s rage was still unsatisfied.
Even gold and jewels were still not enough.
He crushed statues and even Rheek’s stone throne,
Showing the way to even more riches.
He collected those and searched the whole room.
But he look around for more things to take,
Crawled in a hole too small for our hero.
There a rat attacked him, gnawing his face.
There he died having come all that way,
Beat the king, but another rat’s dinner.
Just putting the finishing touches on another installment of Goblins! It will be available this weekend! It’s a really good piece I’m excited to continue this adventure and write more.
The circle of veteran shamans landed blows on the pair with whispered curses to accompany the attacks. The whelps cried and screamed immediately and their sheiks of pain created a wicked song with the cackles of joy that burst from the throats of their attackers. To complete the symphony, bones began to crack and flesh tear while the young goblins huddled on the ground trying to protect their near naked bodies from relentless, savage assault.
So many colors thoughts and images
Floating in and out through me like a stream
Stories told through ever turning pages
You are always the woman of my dreams
I open my eyes greeted by your face
Feeling your body radiating warmth
And with my arms accepting your embrace
An endless well my love for you springs forth
Our love story is one for the ages
Forged from reckless passion and deep desire
Tossing out the wisdom of the sages
We each endured trials of stone and of fire
Now we hold hands and share kisses in dark
Our hearts are one never to be apart
A fire burns in you like Olympus’ peaks.
I know not what it is you desperately seek.
Still I don’t care, burn me.
In your eyes I can see the crimson flame,
That wells up in you like a back draft, untamed.
I’m not afraid of it, burn me.
Your touch is hot, enveloped in your energy,
Running in circles, ever searching occasional insanity.
I like to play with matches, burn me.
Envisions of happiness dance about tauntingly.
Confusion leaves you to swing clenched fists angrily.
Any sensation is better than none at all, burn me
From the ashes you rose?
So happy and joyful with a new man
Another wedding, a new set of vows
Back on track with your life plan
You blame me for ruining your life
Hold me responsible for the fire
Claim you were nothing but a good wife
Say I burned our marriage on a pyre
But you built the fire, log by log:
a log called disrespect
a log called control
a log called contempt
a log called dismissive
a log called sarcasm
a log called neglect
a log called demands
a log called unappreciated
a log called selfishness
a log called indifference
You made me take all the blame
Said it was all my lust and desire
While I may have set the flame
You are the one who built the fire
All books available by Phillip Brunnengraeber
Join the adventure today!
The Sureshot Series:
Sureshot the King (Coming soon)
Goblin Brothers Series:
In a small and simple farming village of Zigdan, citizens did what they always did, farmed and survived. It was a simple life but one that many of the residents there loved. The farmers of the fertile flood plane near a mighty river didn’t often complain about their lot. There was something comforting in farming. Every day the people of Zigdan awoke to tend to their crops, feed their animals and manage their homes. Mostly the men did the hard labor in the fields while the women ground grains for meal, prepared food for their children and cared for them while they were at it. It was simple but fulfilling.
The village was composed of a dozen main families but they were each large and the children and grandchildren of each continued to farm around the initial homesteads. There was plenty of land for each member of the family to start their own homestead and so the village spread a little each year. Normal conflicts aside, the community was harmonious and peaceful. They could not predict the storm that headed their way.
Far off in the distance a plume of dust appeared. It seemed small at first but grew on the horizon like a sun rising in the morning. Initially, the farmers who spotted the approaching cloud assumed it was a dust storm which wasn’t entirely uncommon. They began to order their families to get animals inside and take cover in their homes. For a while they assumed they were safe.
One of the young men of the town was out hunter for rabbits and came running from the direction of the cloud yelling.
“Rozkol!” He screamed.
The word rang through the air like a curse.
“Rozkol are coming this way,” the boy repeated.
The message sent a shock wave through the village and sent some of its citizens racing to warn the rest. Soon all were aware that a hoard was coming their way and the only question that remained was what to do about it.
The patriarchs of the town gathered in an small inn maintained by one of the families. There were twelve of them in all. Each man had a long and cold look on his face. They shifted in their seats and were too afraid to ask the obvious question.
A tall bearded man, and the owner of the inn stood, gripped a pitch fork in his hands and addressed the rest.
“You all know the news already,” he began. “There is a hoard of Rozkol riders heading our way. They will be here before nightfall I imagine.”
He paused a long minute and looked off as though searching for some strength, then continued, “What should we do about it?” He asked.
“I say we fight!” A man shouted.
“That’s suicide,” another responded, “There’s no way we can defeat a group of riders from Rozkol. We’re farmers, not warriors.”
“Then what should we do if we don’t fight?”
“Where to? Our whole lives are here. We have nothing but our farms and our community. Where would we go? There is not another town within a day’s ride.”
The arguments swirled around the room as tempers and nerves were tested. Threats were made and desperate solutions floated. After many wasteful minutes, several of the men decided they would indeed fight. One of the men, Griss, agreed with his brethren then rushed to his farm where his family was huddled. He burst through the door and slammed it shut. Griss’ wife ran to him and hugged him tightly.
“What is going on?” She cried.
The strong farmer broke and fell to the ground clutching his woman and started to sob. Their three children ran to them and they all held each other on the floor of their homestead, each knowing that whatever was about to happen, it was not going to be good.
“Many of the men want to fight,” he whispered. “We will all die. There is no winning. Death is coming for us.” His eyes were red with tears and fear and the whole family sobbed together.
“What do we do?” Olina, his wife asked.
Her husband grit his teeth to stop the tears and groaned, “Take the kids. Take the horses. Run. Just run. They will likely stop here after they destroy our village. It will give you a chance to get away. Follow the river. Head to Junatum.”
“No!” Olina shouted. “We need to stay together. We won’t leave you.”
”Olina!” Griss yelled gripping his wife by the shoulders and shaking the fear from her for a moment. “We only have two horses. You and the kids can ride them. I would need one for just me and then we couldn’t get away. Don’t argue with me. If I survive I will head to Junatum. Run. Run. Now!”
Olina leapt to her feet and gripped the kids then ran to the stable with them. They were scrambling to get the blankets and saddles for the animals while Griss slowly and calmly gathered some food and supplies for his family. The farmer held a sack open and slowly dropped bread and some vegetables into it. Tears filled his eyes and he filled the sack that might keep his family alive long enough to find safety. If that was even possible any more. He slowly walked to their well and filled some water skins, keeping none for himself. With food and water in hand he stepped to the stables where his children hurriedly readied their horses with sobs and whimpers.
When Griss reached his family, they were ready to mount and ride. Olina and the kids froze when they saw him. They felt in their hearts that they were looking upon their father for the last time but none of them had the courage to say it. The farmer reached for his smallest child, a son of five years old and held him tightly to his chest, kissed him and then lifted him onto the first horse. He gripped his oldest child, another son, and began to cry and he held him before kissing his head and whispering, “Take care of your mother and siblings.” The boy nodded then mounted the horse behind his smaller brother.
Griss kissed his middle child, his only daughter, and she began to cry uncontrollably and refused to let go. “Please,” he begged, “Please go. Live.”
Finally, the girl let go of her father and mounted the second horse. Griss turned to his wife.
Both husband and wife broke down and started sobbing as their bodies shook and the held each other as if clinging to life.
“I love you Olina,” Griss whispered, barely audible. “I will see you again. I will be with you always. Take care of our children. As long as they live, part of me lives as well.”
The woman could not respond except through tears and kisses as she wept. The children were all crying now and though they knew they needed to leave, they were clinging to the moment. At last she kissed her husband one last time and climbed onto the horse with her daughter behind her. Griss handed to sack with supplies to his oldest son and then smacked the horse firmly on the flank to get it to lung forward and start on its way. Olina kicked her horse and together the pair. Fled the farm with Griss watching his family until he could not see them any longer.
With his family fleeing the approaching hoard, Griss turned to his home and slowly walked into the cabin he built with his own hands. It was the home he built for his wife. The home in which she birthed their three children. It was constructed with love and commitment. It was a good place to die. It would be his coffin.