Friday, May 8, 2015

Short Story and Announcement!

Gooooooood afternoon Iron Wyvern and readers! Apropos of the title, I, one third of the J.T.Z. Baner trio, have written a short snippet for the Wyvern, but, more importantly, have an announcement to make.
So, all you in the back, quiet down, this is important!
Thank you!
As you have doubtless noticed, unless you haven't been to the blog before, or re just literally blind,  in which case you are excused from noticing; the blog has been quiet for awhile. But no longer!
After this post, as soon as literarily possible, I will be posting a Draconian Debate, where the three uncles from the illustrious TDL will battle it out over magical lawsuits and such, along with other figures from their world.
So, without further ado, here's the short story! Enjoy, and be ready for some more Draconian fun! Iiiiiif we don't procrastinate.....lets hope.
Sliding along the wall at high speed, Markus’ feet skidded on the shaving strewn floor as he sprang around another flimsy wall scaffold into yet another maze passage. Then he stopped dead. At the far end, a monstrous rat reared at the sight of him, a savage meld of shock and outrage sparking in its small, intense eyes.
         Issuing a battle cry, consisting of both a squeal and scream, the giant rodent charged for Markus, whose legs had been momentarily cemented with fear. Acting quickly in the split seconds before impact, he snatched at the walls around him, quickly finding handholds enough to pull himself up with sufficient speed to avoid to snapping jaws of his verminous assailant, whose chitters of outrage quickly receded downwards as Markus climbed to the very top of the wall.
         Balancing easily on the thin support, Markus gazed out across the maze’s wall tops, where he could clearly see the exit route cutting through the muddled blockages like a clean streak on a dusty tabletop.
         Cheering silently, Markus gave a spirited leap across from his wall peak and onto the adjacent one which enclosed the final stretch to the maze’s exit. Nimbly he scaled the wall and was a foot from the opening when he heard a squeal of triumph from behind him. Spinning he saw the same rat charging straight at him, its whole body bunched like a deadly, hairy, spring.
         This time Markus stood his ground, he would not flee this time, it was showdown time. They would finish this like true warriors. And as the rat was about to crash into him—
         “LOOK, CHEESE!” squeaked Markus, jabbing straight up. And as the rat slowed and raised its head Markus poked it in the eye, pulled its ears, and tugged its whiskers so violently that it ran hissing for the other end of the exit corridor.
         Victorious, Markus scampered out of the maze into the glaring beam of an industrial desk lamp. “Yes!” cried a small boy towering above the large table. “Markus wins again!” I stood on my back paws, twitched my illustrious whiskers, and basked in the many pats and strokes that thoroughly flattened my soft ears.
         Several boys started a short lived campaign on the possibilities of cheating, but Markus’ owner vetoed it; making it all too clear that however well his mouse had run the maze, it wasn’t smart enough to do anything like cheat.
                  Markus ignored the babble of the crowd and slid down a power cord onto the soft carpet, intent on finding Mr. Fluffykins and laughing in his face. He owed him a fiver anyway from that last game of poker.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Camp NaNoWriMo!

Yes indeed! J and I (Z) are embarking on Camp NaNoWriMo (T's busy) this April 1st for a voyage of words from the docks of Budding Creativeness, on which we will probably contract horrible seasickness and writer's block, but hopefully will sail straight and true to the shores of Deadline Completion.
(In other words, lets hope we finish.)
So, on the calends of April J will be trying out a new genre and writing a swath of Horror short stories including such things as dune-haunting wraiths and the Ungrateful Undead, which shall hopefully overhaul his goal of 30,000 words in one month!
I shall be writing the riveting tale of the Grimm Ledger, a book where the Brothers Grimm and other great story tellers first wrote down their tales, and if this ledger is opened and read, the fairy tales cannot be contained and will begin to recreate themselves in the modern world! This story will surely bring me to my goal word count of 25,000!
Tell us in the comments hat you think of our stories, and we'll see you at Camp!

Monday, February 9, 2015


There're Novels (love 'em), then their are Novellas, glorified short stories (love those too). And then there are Novelicas, an unusual breed of literature, these are the sort of stories you write in an hour, and edit in half, and then post on your blog as pointless filler. ignore that last part. Ahem.
But the story you're about to read is an example of that species of short stories so short they usual don't exceed single digits in pages. Hope you enjoy it!


“Now Mr. Tung, I’m sure you know why you are here...”

“'Course I do, small cramped room, smelly metal walls, and you staring a hole in me, this is a magazine interview, obviously.”

“Very amusing, Mr. Tung; but unfortunately this is the much more serious kind of interview.”

“Hunting Quarterly?”

“I am surprised really, Mr. Tung, at your flippancy, I’d of though the handcuffs would stopper your, unique, attitude.”

“Stress always makes me smile.”

“I think we’ve had enough of this repartee, Mr. Tung, so getting down to business, are you or are you not going to answer my questions?”

“You haven’t given me much time to think this through.”

“You are chained to a chair, Mr. Tung; overall comfort is the least of our concern…”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But yes, I’ll go with you on the questions, though I can’t promise satisfactory answers, mind.”

“We can iron out any discrepancies after the initial interview.”

“You don’t do casual conversation well, do you?”

“That isn’t our policy, no, Mr. Tung, and now we’re going to record, and the questions will start.”

“I’ve always wanted to be studied closely.”

“Your full name is Antonin Draco Tung, is that correct?”

“I know that’s standard procedure, but it kind of hurts.”

“Answer simply and to the question, or you will be reprimanded, Mr. Tung.”

“Alright then, yes.”

“You are 19 years old?”


“And you are the biological son of Miranda Dorkus Tung and Thomas Fafnir Tung, both deceased…ten years ago?”


“Good; now, concerning the crimes.”


“Do you admit to them being the reason for your confinement and this mandatory interview?”

“Remind me what I did again, it’s slipped my mind.”

“Breaking and entering into private space but, furthermore, assault and battery on the inhabitant.”

“What was the guy’s name? I’d like to thank him for false accusations.”

“Your victim was one Fabian Intendo, resident of #56 Maroon Rd. which you entered illegally early last night, and attacked Mr. Intendo, severely injuring him.”

“Did I break his arm or something? My eyes were closed at the time.”

“He was found severely contused and with seven fractured ribs, Mr. Tung, and I’m afraid denial won’t fit, as he made a positive ID on you twice over in the hospital.”

“Seriously speaking, haven’t you ever heard the word ‘lying’?”
“Why would he lie, no reason, from my point of view.”

“Yes, and from what I can tell, your point of view wouldn’t span a gnat’s—”

“Your frustration doesn’t fit well into your innocence.”

“I didn’t attack anyone, much less him!”

“In short, you deny the charges?”

“I’d do it at length, but you seem to prefer the short, ping-pong conversation.”

“Then that’s a ‘yes’. Very well, this interview has gone far enough fruitlessly. You will admit to your guilt, or I will have you forcefully detained and interrogated much less comfortably and far more forcefully!”

“I thought you’d snap sooner or later. Send in the next cop to try and squeeze a confession out of me.”

“Alright, blow this. Let’s be frank, Mr. Tung, you are facing life imprisonment at this charge, and if your previous offenses come through, even death row, so, please, can you drop the tough talk, I feel like I’m on CSI.”

“Hmm, your shell cracked a little more than hairline there, judge, do I see a personality revealed behind that magnificent façade?”

“Do you realize your literally digging your own grave by continuing on like this?”

“I think you’ve said that, albeit in different words, about five times in this interrogation; so far. Come on, go for six.”

“Mr. Tung—”

“Call me Antonin, might as well get to know each other better.”

“Mr. Tung, do you except and realize the charges and end possibilities of those charges if you are found guilty?”

“Back to the Q&A? Alright then, and yeah, I got all that.”

“Good, then, do you plead ‘innocent’ and ask for a court showing, or ‘guilty’ with the aforementioned consequences?”

“Lemme see, I was charged with breaking windows, kicking a guy in the ribs—ah--severely injuring him, sorry. But what are my previous offenses, I can’t remember much more than a few parking tickets and a few misunderstandings with a mime in the park…you see, when he was in that invisible box—”

“You were charged with drunken behavior in a bar ten years ago, where you injured several customers, all of whom charged you with assault, which does not support your denial of the attack on Mr. Intendo.”

“Oh yeah, that--and oh yeah him, too--When do I get to see my victim? I’d like to speak to him…”

“As I mentioned before, he is currently recovering in the hospital, where he is still accusing you in particular of his assault and the destruction of his belongings.”

“So, all in all I’m gonna be garroted if I don’t go to court for something I didn’t do.”

“Is that a statement or a question, Mr. Tung?”

“It’s a statement of fact and a question concerning the stability of our justice system, which seems a tad shaky from my point of view.”

“Very well; under the law, due to your pleading of ‘not guilty’—”

“Didn’t exactly plead…”

“—you will be assigned a court case and number, and when your number is called you will repeat your case against the assaulted Mr. Intendo, who we will allow two weeks to recover sufficiently to appear in court, where the final ruling will be decided by an impartial jury. Do you agree to this action?”

“Well, my hands are tied, aren’t they? They’re actually handcuffed, but never mind. Yes, I think those terms will do just fine. Do I get to choose my lawyer?”

“The judicial authority will assign you a defending lawyer.”

“Ixnay on that, then…”

“Our business is at an end, Mr. Tung, you will appear in court in two weeks time or possibly later, which will be the…15th of February. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You’re very welcome, but I never got your name, I’d like to have something to think on in my cell. What is it?”

Standing up, the interrogator turned halfway towards the room’s door, then turned back, deciding.

“My name is Watson, Mr. Tung, James Watson Jr.”

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Sunday Fiasco: Hippogriff Herd Blitzkrieg's Helpless Town

Terror (which is a vital ingredient in a good fiasco) struck the town of WeeluvTarur in the county of YezouiDo early yesterday morning when a massive contingent of Hippogriffs flew over the market square and without warning began to bombard the citizens with their own...natural projectiles.
The town's guard was no match for the smelly carpet bombing, and fled inside, while several were struck and have been marked down DIA (Defiled In Action).
After several passes over the square, each one with another bowl full of spite, the armada of intestinally malevolent Hippogriffs split into close flying groups and spread throughout the town, pinpointing fleeing towns and...depositing destruction upon them.
Eventually, the town's executives gave in to the invaders and held up a white bib in surrender.
Soon after the Hippogriff conquerors had taken hold of the town, a battalion of military pixies entered the town with intent to oust the invaders and hopefully wash up.
Taken by surprise in the town square as they refilled their weaponized stomachs, the Hippogriffs only barely managed to rebuff the pixie forces, who all wore body armor and gas masks to counteract their weapons.
Forcing the pixie's forces out of the town and into the surrounding fields, the Hippogriff herd took to the air, but fortuneately for the liberators their bowels ere not yet full with deadly missiles, and the superior maneuverability of the pixie forces soon told.
After the Hippogriffs were arrested and hoof-cuffed, they were transported to holding cells in the Rocky Pocky Mountains, the only jail facility with restrooms strong enough to cope with the new inmates.
Several of the Fiasco's best reporters interviewed some of the survivors in WeeluvTarur, who mostly gagged about the smell, but also gave several insights into the reasons for the Hippogriffs aerial invasion.
The most popular was that "They w's j'st crazy(cough, cough)!", along with the possibility that "They'm wanted owr food, like (cough, gag)!"
We are unsure for the moment to the exact motive of the destructive invasion, but we are quite sure that it was a smashing good fiasco.

Written by Eddie von Porto'Pot and Edited by Butthurst Stinkenzout

Friday, December 5, 2014

Water Under the Bridge Letter 5

I gather from your reply to my first letter that your parents disapprove of my missive born education for your advancement in social inadequacy.
          Well, Lout, I think your parents’ distrust of my qualifications is a sham for something deeper. My relationship with Mingo and Droodida has always been unhealthily friendly.
          As trollmutts Mingo and I and our brother Dingo were inseparable for a short time due to a glue gun malfunction. But after that Dingo was a good brother, giving out wedgies and dropping mud on us as often as possible, he was a true troll.
          But I’m sad to say Lout, that your father was unusual bad as a child. He was never a bully at school, and even when the Skool children begged him to shove their heads down toilets; he only gave them severe wet willies.
          And he was always nice to me! I couldn’t understand it. As the youngest, I was the stereotypical punching back, for stench’s sake! Everyone else was good! They kicked, slapped and hung me over deep wells! But he only ever set fire to my bed, by mistake too!
          Sorry Lout, I’m always a bit traumatized when I remember. But you must realize why Mingo does not want me as a contact, it reminds him of his child where he failed to be a true delinquent!
          I will be the first to say that he improved later in life, far exceeding the exploits of Dingo who unfortunately got eaten in Australia due to a misunderstanding, but his childhood is still stained by that slight good nature.
          So I have decided to begin contacting you in secret, my nephew, so not to upset your parents any further.
          Now my messenger pigeon shall only fly at night, in a lack leotard, and shall pretend to be shot down by arrows to confuse any surveillance just as it is reaching your swamp, and then spiral down limply through your window, landing in a perfect cartwheel that will send my letter spinning from its leg into your outstretched mitt.
          That procedure should be sufficient to debunk any suspicions that might have aroused by a normal pigeon.
          My quill is running low, and my castle’s getting nearer to a town with a good ink factory. Do you want anything Lout? Send a quick pigeon and I might be able to steal something appropriate.
          But I must go now,
          Your affectionate and only uncle,
          Bingo Gobspit
          P.S. I’ll get to my unfortunate involvement with your mother next time.
          Pee-Pee. S. Do you like Spearmint Gum? I’ve just raided a merchant ship found a sunken treasure ship, and it’s got a massive store of the stuff. I’ve enclosed some, just in case. Forgive the sogginess.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

K9 Experiments Go Horribly Wrong...

(Cue Suspenseful Backing Track)
Over the last hundred years, dog breeders, corrupt organizations like PetSmart, and sadistic money seeking tycoons have merged the DNA of many a mutt so to create amorphous creatures that will perfectly satisfy the populace.
But they went to far lately (cue Jaws theme), and created a batch of dog breeds so terrible and twisted that they were hidden away in a secret government facility. This list is the only remaining log of those unholy creations.
So, yeah, enjoy.

Collie + Lhasa Apso = Collapso, a dog that folds up easy for transporting

Spitz + Chow Chow = Spitz-Chow, a dog that throws up alot

Pointer + Setter = Poinsetter, a traditional Christmas pet

Great Pyrenees + Dachshund = Pyradachs, a puzzling breed

Pekingnese + Lhasa Apso = Peekasso, an abstract dog

Irish Water Spaniel + English Springer Spaniel = Irish Springer, a dog fresh and clean as a whistle

Newfoundland + Basset Hound = Newfound Asset Hound, a dog for financial advisors

Terrier + Bulldog = Terribull, a dog that makes awful mistakes

Bloodhound + Labrador = Blabador, not a popular dog with CIA agents

Malamute + Pointer = Moot Point, owned by... oh, well, it doesn't matter anyway

Collie + Malamute = Commute, a dog that travels to work

Deerhound + Terrier = Derriere, a dog that's true to the end

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Water Under the Bridge Letter 4

Lout, Lout, Lout,
I take it as a sign of goodwill that you did not tell your mother about our correspondence. Keep it that way.
In your most recent (and only, so far) letter to me, you mentioned receiving letters from two other "uncles." Please assure me that you will not listen to their advice. They are not really your uncles. In fact, those letters are most likely part of a scam. "Honest" Bingo Gobspit is no relation of ours, and this Ferkyle Gruntbutt just seems like a very unsavory character, who's probably been elected Cleanest Troll of the Year at least twice. As you can see, you should not trust either of them.
Scam artists are a bad bunch!
-Your real uncle,
Ferdy Snotdrop

P.S. The answer to Question #3 is 187. You're welcome.