Monday, November 25, 2013

Night Serpent

Another day, another post. Welcome to another short story on Iron
Wyvern! Featuring [blank], with several appearances of a [blank] [blank], this short story involves a lot of [blank], and so I'll start it with that.


The room was small and dark, a single window washing the room in a rectangular niche of moonlight. A curved baby crib sat along the wall, a crosshatched maze of hanging toys obscuring the inhabitant. The floor around the crib was strewn with a forest of stuffed toys, all leaning in against the crib’s spindly supports.

       On the window sill, a streak of shadow flickered, an impression of complete blackness that washed over the lighted stone with an unmistakably serpentine movement. Flat against the wall, it ran down the wallpaper like a path of oil, pooling on the floor in a botch of shadow, distinctly visible in the moonlight.

    Plastered to the floor like saturated fur, it slithered out of the moon’s path and into the hazy darkness of the room, winding its way towards the crib by the wall. The intense blackness of the nightmarish form cut its way easily through the dim darkness of the room, curving in a wavy line up to the crib’s thin legs.

   Curling upwards, the reptilian shadow spun in a ribbon of black up the leg of the crib, flattening itself against the curve of the crib’s front and making its way swiftly to the lip. As it moved, the darkness elongated, thickening visibly against the pale colors of the crib, soon its tapering tail wound around the whole circumference of the crib, hemming the carriage in with a wide band of darkness.

       The head of the creature rose above the lip, separating from the body of the crib and adding dimensions until the forebody of the jet black snake rose high above the hanging toys enclosing the tiny, sleeping form.

      An intense cold suddenly ensconced the crib, sending a ripple of frost out across the room in a wide circle. With a deep hiss, the serpent slid down into the crib, passing through the dome of toy hangings, it bent its entire form around the sleeping baby, nestled in a soft blanket.

        Positioning its triangular head above the   baby, the coils of the night serpent constricted slowly on the baby’s torso, squeezing gently, but intensifying force until the pressure was felt within the child. The serpent’s mouth gaped wide, long fangs sliding forward into place, coiling tapers of darkness running along the needle sharp fangs.

     As the tightening ropes of the snake’s body tightened themselves still more, a soft glow penetrated the still sleeping child’s chest. Growing brighter, a hazy orb of pure gold grew steadily out of the baby’s torso, the coils of black shying away from the brightening glow.

    Pulsing slightly, the orb hung above the child, still attached to the child by curving strings of strong light. The dark snake’s eyes flashed against the powerful light of the orb, bearing its nightmarish fangs, the serpent drew back its body, preparing to strike.

    The thin layer of frost on the floor cracked, spider web flurries of breaks running out along the floor, accompanied by a soft, growing rumble, like an engine, prepping for a race. The shadowy snake froze, it’s body stiffening in a backward arc. It’s victim momentarily forgotten, the shadowy snake hissed in agitation as the rumble grew into a deep growl of anger, rising about the crib in a closing orb of fury.

   Rising above the crib, towering to the ceiling, a huge, shaggy form stood against the darkness of the room.

      Slackening its coils, the snake flattened itself against the interior of the crib, relinquishing its hold on the child. As it did, the orb of pure gold, slowly sank back into the baby’s chest. Above the carriage, the enormous form bent, its huge head reaching down to the crib. The dark snake hissed in fear, coiling against the back of the crib, trapped.

       Two giant paws moved from the animal’s sides, surrounding the crib on each side. The growling suddenly stopped, replaced by a low, rumbling undertone.

     The snout of the creature dipped closer, and then, with a flash of claws, the huge thing struck, snatching the black snake from the crib in a cage of curved claws. Hissing madly, the serpent thrashed, biting at the powerful claws gripping it.

   Undaunted, the enormous creature brought the writhing nightmare up in front of its face, tiny beetle eyes looking straight into the dark sockets of the snake. The creature was a bear, an enormous bear, its head larger than the crib far below.

        Momentarily frozen by the sight of the bear’s face, the dark serpent renewed its thrashing, attempting to squeeze out of the tight hold of the bear’s claws. Raising its paw, the bear tightened its grip on the creature, gripping it tighter and tighter.

  Writhing and thrashing, the snake’s body elongated, slapping against the bear’s foreleg, diluting and stretching, becoming less distinct, flattening into a hazy impression of itself. At last, the bear closed it’s fist, the serpent’s form disappeared, fading into the dim glow of the room, evaporating into nothingness.

   Its work done, the huge guardian shrank to the floor, disappearing into the predawn glow of the single window.

   As the sun rose, the square of light from the window stretched forward, falling on the crib and displaying it in a bright glow of sunlight. On the floor around it, the pile of leaning toys fell in a rolling inward wave, dogs, foxes, dragons and mice, with also, directly beneath the crib, a single stuffed bear.


Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Announcement (of sorts)

Hey, it's J. Baner. T & Z are traveling to distant lands across the world, so I get to sit here in the central United States and write to you.

We're going to talk about some stuff today, and I'll just list it out for you right here before we begin:

The Draconian Letters
The Future
Other stuff I throw in at random

All right, we've got some basic guidelines for our discussion.

Concerning TDL, or The Draconian Letters, as it were, I am sure you readers have come to realize that the bloggers in charge of this establishment are horrific procrastinators, manic truth-stretchers, and sometimes even outright liars. We promise you more letters soon: we give you none. We say we'll be active from now on: we don't post for two months. Stuff like that makes us unreliable.

By the dawn of 2014, we plan to change that. We will jettison Iron Wyvern into a new era of peace, prosperity, and pepper grenades. Explosions at every turn; regular content; anything and everything blogworthy, we will post. We will post so much cool stuff your eyeballs will bleed by the time we're done with you.

Books. That's next on my list. Reading any cool books? Books are amazing. I'm currently reading A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, among other things, and I must say, it's pretty darn good.

But enough about reading books. Let's talk about writing books. I will be participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but I do not think T & Z will. As I mentioned before, they are at an undisclosed location overseas (think Europe). They're going to be there a couple of days into November, and I'm pretty sure they don't want to ruin the vacation with worrying about writing deadlines.

The Future. Oooh. The Future of the blog, the Future of the world, whatever, you name it.

We plan to get production going in December, January, around that time. We will bombard and maraud you with posts galore, and we will try to continue that barrage until either June or July, when we will take breaks for Camp NaNoWriMo (depending on when each of us is participating, or if we are at all); after this, we will march on until November and pause once more. You get the idea. We won't stop, we won't let up, except for notable occasions and prescheduled breaks.

I know what you're thinking; you're thinking we won't be able to do it. Perhaps not, but I have a feeling we will.

Have fun, anyway, and don't forget to visit the exclusive Flying Llama Sightseeing Area!

-J Baner

Friday, October 25, 2013

Blog Hunt Results

Dear readership!
I am afraid to say that the Draconian Blog Hunt has already been solved! Cursifications, I thought it would taker longer...
Anyway! The winner of the first ever Draconian Blog Hunt is the Follower known to some...shrouded in mystery and spray cheese...SARAH!!!!!
Congratulations, Sarah! You definitely have a trigger finger for blog searching, and I am happy to show you the prize..which is.............
A DRACONIAN "KISS THE CARNIVORE" APRON!!!..Oops, sorry, wrong patent.
Your real prize, sarah, is; you are entitled to name a Draconian Criminal to be mentioned in the next letter to be posted! Which will be pretty soon, providing we concentrate our combined laptops to thresh out a good letter!
Beware the ricocheting calamari.....They stick in your teeth...
-Baner .1

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Draconian Blog Hunt

Hello Readers all! Hearken to the Wyvern's Den!
My apologies for not posting in so long, but we have had a few malfunctions with the Draconian Letters; including a nefarious zebra, a narcoleptic insomniac, and a pound of cherry preserve, but some on that later.
I have created this post as a fun offshoot of a scavenger hunt, which will span the entire data pages of Iron Wyvern, where you will be given the name of  Dragon, and must link it with his/her title. When the 'scavenger hunt' is finished, the reward will be...I'll tell you after..
The name you must link with it's title IIIIS!.....Swamptongue the....!....... A capricious all-time employee of Laziness, and permanent resident of Yovi, the Dragon may be hard to find, but that's just the point!

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Book Two Letter Thirty Three

My Dearest Nephew,

 I think I may be dying. As I lie here on my deathbed, I ponder over the things I have done over the course of my life and I begin to question certain choices I made both as a younger Dragon and as I grew older and became slightly more responsible and wise and all tha
Ignore the sentence above. I made more than one attempt at writing this letter is all and after a while the nurses here at the house of healing I am currently bunking in refused to give me more sheets of parchment after I crumpled up and burned my 36th attempt. The nerve!
            Anyway, I am in a hospital at the moment, thanks to your uncle Scaligar’s ungrateful behavior, but I am getting ahead of myself.
            It started when I came to rescue him and that Drakess from their icy demise on the frozen tundra, wait, no, it really started when your father Rorfang married your mother and we met for the first time. I shall never forget that day, what fireworks there were and there weren’t even supposed to be fireworks at your parents’ wedding! But anyway, telling the story of my injuries at your uncle’s hands from there would take a very long time.
            I set out from the refueling station where I had questioned the Drakes about the location where they had marooned your uncle Scaligar and the Drakess, intending to do my best to rescue them. Seeing as I would be all but blind and totally unable to locate your uncle in the blizzard by sight, I decided to put the ol’ elemental Pearl to use and turn to forces of nature to help me along my rescue quest.
            I influenced the blizzard around me to locate your uncle Scaligar and concentrate itself around his position. A brilliant plan, eh? If your uncle and the Drakess sheltering with him from the storm did not die of cold and exposure too soon, I would be sure to find them and rescue them.
            When I found your uncle after a few hours of searching through the blizzard, I descended in magnificent Draconian glory (don’t believe a word of this crashing headfirst into the snow thing your uncle Scaligar fabricated)
            At first your uncle and the Drakess seemed quite happy to see me and Scaligar ran to me and fell upon my neck and wept and told me he was sorry for all of the terrible things he had done to me over the years and that he would clean my cave and do my laundry for the rest of his days in penitence.
            I accepted his apology gracefully and said to him “Let us kill the fatted turkey and roast it, for my brother has apologized for all of the heinous crimes he has committed and has said that he shall do my laundry…”
            Very well, none of that actually happened although your uncle did seem glad to see me right up until I told him how I had made the storm stronger around him to find him at which point he began to inflict upon me the injuries that put me into this house of healing.
            After he had sent me flying into the snow after a triple spin punch and a wackerdoodle tail kick and I had spent my last reserves of breath quipping “You’re welcome” YOUR UNCLE SCALIGAR PROCEEDED TO USE MY ELEMENTAL PEARL TO MANIPULATE THE STORMS AND SEND THEM AWAY!!!!!!!!!!! MY ELEMENTAL PEARL!!!!!!!!!!!!

            [Note: this letter was sent without a signature as it had to be taken from the possession of the patient by the name of Semithino in ward 7 as he appeared to have deteriorated into a state of frothing fury and had to be led away to quiet room for a series of deep breathing and yoga sessions lest he hurt somebody.
            Sincerely, Hurkek the Extremely Notorious for Cutting off Limbs, head of the Northern branch of the Draconian hall for the Full Recovery of Health and Peace of Mind]

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Exclusive Fantasy Interview

Interviewer: J.T.Z. Baner
Interviewee: Secret Agent Spink

Z. Baner: Welcome back to another interesting, intriguing, intricate and ind—

Agent Spink: Get to my part, you narcissist!

Z. Baner: Ah, yes. Let us, without further ado, welcome our guest to the proverbial chair for our next interview.......SECRET AGENT SPINK!!

Agent Spink: why is the chair proverbial?

Z. Baner: Performance tax, expenses are up and intakes are down. Let’s just say we’ll welcome you to the visceral stool of enlightenment. See how it glows!

Agent Spink: is that white paint and glitter glue?

Z. Baner: Mind your own business!

Agent Spink: You wanna piece o’ me! Comm’on! BINKAWADOOOOOO!!!!!!!<(ancient Bulgarian food fight rouser)

J Baner: Anyway!*(give the man back his toupee, Z)*Lets get back onto this show. So; Mr. Spink, what is your exact line of work?

Agent Spink: Well, I run an agency incorporating several Secret Agent Spink artisans, including my own TV show, Secret Agent Spink fitness equipment, Secret Agent Spink action figures, and even I even run the Secret Agent Spink Super Hair Toupee shop—

Z. Baner: Dang right, that hairpiece looked like horsehair.

Agent Spink: I do not wear a toupee, my fine example of an equestrian posterior.

Z. Baner: Keep it up baldy, and you’ll be opening a Spink Skin Graft shop soon…

J. Baner: Lets change the subject shall we?

Agent Spink: Gladly.

J. Baner: So, Mr. Spink, what exactly is your TV show about?

Agent Spink: Well, its ‘bout my adventures with several sidekicks who die at the end of each episode.

J. Baner: How, er, sadistic.

Agent Spink: I’ve had Bobin, Tonkto, Super-Duper Boy, and the Kid Bash, all dying tragically at the end of the last scenes. Usually they get dunked in lava or get dared to have a staring contest with Chuck Norris.

J. Baner: Ooooh, incinerated the ole irises, eh?

Agent Spink: Yes, and the soundtrack is the best. Here, I’ve got a tape of it….

Z. Baner: Dude, that’s the ‘Lone Ranger’ soundtrack.

Agent Spink: It is not!

Z. Baner: Is too, you track thief.

Agent Spink: Is not.

Z. Baner: Is too!

Agent Spink: Is not!

Z. Baner: IS TOO!

Agent Spink: IS NOT!

Z. Baner: IS TOO!!

J. Baner: QUIET!!! Ladies, you’re both pretty, now can we get on with the interview; or will I have to use force?

Agent Spink: I show you force!!

J. Baner: *Choke! Gasp! Cough!*

Z. Baner: Spink, call off Darth Vader and stop stealing the whistling mangoes, you’ll make us look childish. I think we’ll cut off this interview for now, as the property tax will probably be sending a foreclosure on this warehouse soon.

Agent Spink: We’re in a warehouse? I thought it was a penthouse!

Z. Baner: Thought wrong, didn’t ya, horsehair.


[possibly the most violent interview since the leprechaun incursion, we ask you not to sue for mental scarring, and to please enjoy the blog.]

Cap. Shun, officer of the Royal Blogospheric Censoring Association

Z. Baner