Xaviere

Whence I came from fair Delos After a night of alcoholic gluttonie, 'Twas off arduous Prelatorian I came across A curious sight of profound mysterie. A cavern of gloom exquisite Saturated all light visible, But the object I spi'd right front of it Was all forlorn inedible. With leaf shivering soundlie in zephyr dance And shoot wav'd in silent voice, Its serenitie held me in deep entrance, Its quiet frame Nature did rejoice. I approach'd with prudent touch To see this sight that was most queer, So it was this that I greeted such, "Proud Shrubberie, why art thou here?" To this, the Foliage did not stir As was its nature as a pl

Now it is time, my love, For us to lie back and smile at skies above, Like a victim sweetly tranquilised… It is time, time to go to eternal retreats Down the road And up the lane Past grizzled pawn shops and morbid plants And tasteless meals at restaurants; The people watch from frosty windows, Clouded eyes like a stagnant whirlpool Sucking us up Into a world of fantasies, But our disease is not yet caught, Now it is time to watch your thought. How your glaze has a phosphorescent glow… Do you like the colours of the rainbow? The pipe dream that shivers across the hearth-rug, The crackling memories that scorch the milk jug

"Algernon! Sweetums! Pookie! Come and get your din-dins!" called a plummy female voice from inside a gorgeous gothic-styled portico that matched with the surrounding estate. A disjointed yawn suddenly emanated from behind the birdbath in the courtyard. "Algernon!" This time, the voice was followed by the ting-ting-ting of two metallic objects beating each other to pieces. "Where is that dragon?" The yawner crawled out from behind the birdbath, stretching each one of his limbs as he did. He was exhausted, it had to be said, for the character known solely as Algernon (for the time being), had just digested four bighorn sheep for tea and was

"So," a voice fogged up with the local Cyrenean accent spoke, "Go on, our kid. Spill the gold pieces. What's up?" The copper dragon known fully as Algernon Bertram Cholmondley Dash-Nettle, sighed with the air of an entity doomed to eternal misery as he downed a couple of gallons of lager from a large mock Seleucarian tankard of dubious origin. "Every damned thing that could happen has happened today, Blu," he muttered, licking a foamy moustache from the top of his somewhat bashed-looking snout. Another dragon of colossal stature, larger and bulkier than Algernon, sat opposite him. His scales seemed to be every shade of the sky amalgamated i

The Noble family were not particularly wealthy, nor were they exceedingly poor. In fact, they were in the respectable middle-class, having enough gold put away in the Royal Ashtan Bank to fund the upbringing and education of all the orphans in the city until they were seventy. Their house was a curious design. From an onlooker's eye, someone could say that the exterior was made up of smoked stone, or perhaps magically-preserved ebony, for the masonry (or carpentry, it was difficult to tell) was completely black. It was an old house, with proof from old paintings of the city in the de Vermiis art gallery, and still the twisted chimney pipes t

A lone figure stood upon a balcony of the El'Jaziran Palace, surveying the scene before him. The night before, there had been a raid on the small desert village. Today, El'Jazira was a mere valley of smoke and skeletal remains of what it was. The treasure had been pillaged, the women ravished, and the houses engulfed in raging inferno. It was not a particularly pleasant thing to wake up to. The smell was one thing. Waking up to the overpowering stench of burning flesh tainted the senses deeply, and caused a general loss of appetite. Opening the windows and seeing the place where he had been staying for the past few days completely obliterat

Upon a piece of parchment headed with a fragrant wax seal was written: The Right Honourable Crispin Samuel, Lord Lapidoth cordially invites ............................... to dinner at Rustavon Park, Western Ithmia tonight at dusk. It was written with black ink: the neat, flowing script meandering elegantly across the surface. Crispin picked up a quill, loaded it and slowly wrote in the gap, 'Lady Eleanor Shelley'. His quill trembled. Then, without warning he immediately crossed out the name, took another invitation parchment and wrote down in the space, 'Lady Mary Lapidoth'. If found out by any of the old Ashtanite revolutionaries, whic

It was midday in the Crystal Leaf Inn. As was usual at lunchtime, the restaurant area was brimming full of people at varying degrees of hunger. All the tables had been taken up, and the innkeeper was having to ask people to sit outside with their meal. This did not go down too well with the public as there was a vicious blizzard threatening to cut off their ears. However, the lucky few who had managed to acquire a table were savouring their food as best as they could. There was a large variety of people within the inn - poets sat still, reflecting on the essence of life and reality; bureaucrats chattered over their work and dealings, and in