I went a-frabjous longing, a-songing while in space. For was I a hardy space marine—en route to rescue a most bodacious babe. My wife, my life, was mired in strife, aboard the faraway “Needle in the hay,” where glorgavastels siege lay only yesterday.
Sword dripping with the white blood of the demon priests, Karak heaved against the stone idol, putting his full weight into the task. Shouts from the crowd below rose up to the cliff as the idol worshippers cavorted in a frenzy. Karak would show them their snake god, up close.
Loogan could feel his strength weakening. It was only a matter of time before the mighty cobra would snap his spine. He had one move left, one chance before death embraced him. He plunged his small knife into the snake’s mouth and jammed it open. Victory was his.
The scaleless called me a “monster”. Called me “Sala-sath”. Hunted me through my jungle. Drove their longclaws through my kin. All for the burden of feeding my clutch.
I failed to stop their alpha, the one named “Uthgur”, from finding us. May my venom be the last thing he feels!
Me and my snake. Usually I’m in charge, but one day, before I realized, it had reared up, threatening and hissing and spitting at prey with whom it insisted I engage. But while I was thinking rapier, its prey brandished rapier wit when she said, “Not in your dreams, jerk!”
The ground trembled. Shouts and hisses filled the air. Gold scales gleamed down the serpentine body. The warrior’s sword blazed as one of Zeus’s bolts. He beheaded the beast with a roar.
The boy’s wide eyes watched the animatronic scene settle, dreaming of being a Herculean hero himself one day.
Snow’s heavy silence filled the space between the sounds of the struggle. The Ice Wyrm had caught him unaware, coils wrapping him in their deadly embrace. His muscles strained, his feet fought for purchase on the frozen rocks.
The wyrm shifted enough. Clutching his sword, he hacked at the wyrm.
“OK, cut. I need you to work on dragging that right leg through. Or you’ll never explode into the Double Dutch. And I know I said the judges love fierce, but can we dial down the sneers and look like you’re somewhat happy to be there. You’ll scare the children.”
“I’m not the sssnake you’re looking for, sssstop poking at me with that russsty blade. How many sssnakes you know with teeetthh like theesssee?”
“Talks like snake, crawls like snake, only good snake is dead snake. I’m getting that skin and filling my belly, these things together make Thoc happy.”
Decker drank whisky. Martha pulled on her cigarette. The musk of passion lingered in their nostrils. He felt the renewed pull of her pheromones as her body cooled.
Their passion evident, their love ambiguous, she claimed the moment. “Paul, I’m going back to California.”
The civilized fops called him Gren the Barbarian, and rightly so. He had hacked and hewn his way across an entire continent. Once he became an aged king, he revealed that none of it would have been possible without his companion Whitesnake. Gren was only providing meals for his pet.
Long Week
By Ray Tabler
“Wait a minute.” The giant snake gasped, uncoiling a bit.
“Wha?” Klaff, the hero, was instantly wary.
“Look, I’ve had a long week. Can we just do this Monday?”
“Nine AM, Monday?”
“How about eleven. Fighting Shlon at nine.”
“I know him. He won’t take you long. It’s a date.”
I went a-frabjous longing, a-songing while in space. For was I a hardy space marine—en route to rescue a most bodacious babe. My wife, my life, was mired in strife, aboard the faraway “Needle in the hay,” where glorgavastels siege lay only yesterday.
Sword dripping with the white blood of the demon priests, Karak heaved against the stone idol, putting his full weight into the task. Shouts from the crowd below rose up to the cliff as the idol worshippers cavorted in a frenzy. Karak would show them their snake god, up close.
Loogan could feel his strength weakening. It was only a matter of time before the mighty cobra would snap his spine. He had one move left, one chance before death embraced him. He plunged his small knife into the snake’s mouth and jammed it open. Victory was his.
Thracian was a bad man, but not stupid.
“Go, Skulk,” he said, before the poisoned-dart killed Skulk.
“Work, Maurice,” he said, just before the trap gears ground Maurice to pulp.
“Fight it!” said his surviving companions, drawn swords their arguments.
Thracian Serpent-Slayer was a bad man, but he was strong.
The scaleless called me a “monster”. Called me “Sala-sath”. Hunted me through my jungle. Drove their longclaws through my kin. All for the burden of feeding my clutch.
I failed to stop their alpha, the one named “Uthgur”, from finding us. May my venom be the last thing he feels!
A fierce warrior faces down a giant snake that stares at him with an evil grin.
“All right, Smiley, eat steel!” the warrior shouts, his sword poised.
The serpent winks. “I’m just here for the hugs, buddy."
The warrior lowers his sword. "Next time, lead with that.”
50-word story:
Me and my snake. Usually I’m in charge, but one day, before I realized, it had reared up, threatening and hissing and spitting at prey with whom it insisted I engage. But while I was thinking rapier, its prey brandished rapier wit when she said, “Not in your dreams, jerk!”
The ground trembled. Shouts and hisses filled the air. Gold scales gleamed down the serpentine body. The warrior’s sword blazed as one of Zeus’s bolts. He beheaded the beast with a roar.
The boy’s wide eyes watched the animatronic scene settle, dreaming of being a Herculean hero himself one day.
Snow’s heavy silence filled the space between the sounds of the struggle. The Ice Wyrm had caught him unaware, coils wrapping him in their deadly embrace. His muscles strained, his feet fought for purchase on the frozen rocks.
The wyrm shifted enough. Clutching his sword, he hacked at the wyrm.
“OK, cut. I need you to work on dragging that right leg through. Or you’ll never explode into the Double Dutch. And I know I said the judges love fierce, but can we dial down the sneers and look like you’re somewhat happy to be there. You’ll scare the children.”
“I’m not the sssnake you’re looking for, sssstop poking at me with that russsty blade. How many sssnakes you know with teeetthh like theesssee?”
“Talks like snake, crawls like snake, only good snake is dead snake. I’m getting that skin and filling my belly, these things together make Thoc happy.”
Decker drank whisky. Martha pulled on her cigarette. The musk of passion lingered in their nostrils. He felt the renewed pull of her pheromones as her body cooled.
Their passion evident, their love ambiguous, she claimed the moment. “Paul, I’m going back to California.”
Decker downed his whisky.
“You are a terror in the dark, Zmok.”
“Yessss….”
“Mothers tell their children ‘Go to sleep or Zmak will eat you!’”
“Sssure…”
“Brave men feel their stomachs turn at the sound of your name, Zmak.”
“True…”
“I will kill this mouse for you, Zmak, but this is the last time.”
Hydra, Schmi-dra. Little body ... small heads. That little Greek-boy - had it easy
The civilized fops called him Gren the Barbarian, and rightly so. He had hacked and hewn his way across an entire continent. Once he became an aged king, he revealed that none of it would have been possible without his companion Whitesnake. Gren was only providing meals for his pet.