Archive for September, 2016

Complimentary Newspaper…


Flipping through a complimentary newspaper on a Sunday is a fun adventure sometimes.

THIS is the winner of the 2012 interior innovation award.


Two things here.
A. What repulsive pieces of trash were submitted, but rejected?
B. The flowchart of tastelessness is as follows:
1. the people who designed this. As we are in the 21st century, I have to assume it was not just ONE person, but a conglomerate of people. Probably some studio or “bureau” of “artists”…
2. the folks who approved of this “design” and gave a green light for production, ignoring the malignent tumors forming on their cornea.
3. advertising department “people” calling this ensemble of poles and barrs innovative,  and entering the design into a contest.
4. the committee awarding the IIA to this piece.
5. the degenerates in the press who decided to print (and praise) this with terms like “Design-Highlight”.
Four years later.
Maybe 6. people who read this, and went out to waste their money on some metal and “polystone”, just to have a nifty new holding aparatus for the material they wipe shit from their asses with…

Rings of Fate S1xE8 – Destiny – 007 (pt.4)


“Growing concerns arise in the admiralty as the case of a murder in the diplomatic entourage remains unsolved. Are the trade talks in jeopardy? Or worse? Stay with us, in our news talks at seven the whole case gets debated by our top journalists.” Darius turned around to the Admiral. Other headlines followed, including one about a new party drug like implant, before the programme returned to the daily routine of TV shows produced on the Destiny, and old ones from Earth.

“How did this get out?” Her voice close to shrieking Admiral Kanjeet had jumped off the table, marched through the room. “Unknown.” First officer commander John Lewis replied over the intercom line.

“It is out, now we need to contain it.” He resumed.

Pryia stopped dead in her tracks, shook her head and resumed pacing around the room. “Prepare a statement. We need to calm this situation.” She sighed, closing the transmission.


As his shift ended Darius strode down the hallway towards his quarters. “Hello friend.” From a corridor Abdul stepped into the main hallway. “Hello.”

“I haven’t quite had the time to thank you properly.” The tall man mumbled beneath his beard, he looked around nervously. “There is no need. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain. Any production from the Kismet for our stuff, your archives for ours.” mumbling too, Darius replied.

With a hastily whispered greeting, Abdul vanished into the next corridor.

Except for security personnel, the hallway was empty. Plants rose from pots on either side of the corridor, spending oxygen, and most would bear fruit sooner or later. Bioengineers had taken their cue from Explorer, and the votes of the people. Grasses grew in lanes at the sides of the hallway. No lawn though.

“Good evening.” Abruptly torn away from his thoughts of the uselessness of lawn, Darius looked at Irina leaning against the wall, her bare feet in the grass.

“The same to you. You could’ve told me that Mr. Savic was your uncle.” Glad he had not to deal with his interrogator, but the lovely niece, Darius remained calm.

“I had given it no thought, but how about we spend the evening in front of the screen?” Irina extended her hand to him. “Gladly. What are watching?”

A playfulness surrounded her smile as she replied with a quote. “Good evening, Mister Bond.”


Like small twigs spreading from a branch, dimly lit corridors split off of the main hallway. It was the dim corridors that the man stuck to. Outside a common room he found what he was searching for.

“Good evening friend.” The tall man outside the common room greeted another. “I believe I have gained the trust of someone here, sneaking in the Trojan over the communication line shouldn’t be a problem. The access codes for the Ericsson station should be in our hands soon, whether they trade for it, or not.”

Hidden in the shadow of a citrus tree the man smirked, the glasses he wore had done their job of automatic translation well.

“Good, but we must be cautious, they will monitor the communication line well. Besides, I’m worried that the murder of Hakeem was no coincidence.” The other person replied, nervously looking around, but glancing over the hidden man only meters from them.

Time to go.

The two men continued their conversation, but had switched to different matters. Staying with the back corridors, the man from the shadows waited in a safer distance for the two to split up.

After what seemed like ages the two finally departed, headed in different directions.

“Hello, friend.” Surprised the tall man looked into the darkness behind a small willow. It stood at the corner of a corridor leading to the main hallway. “Hello? Who are you?”

“Just a friend.” A moment later a tasing dart stuck in the tall man’s chest. “What exactly are your plans with the access codes?”

Fiddling with his gun in the shadows, resetting it to a higher dose for the tasing darts. “I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“I overheard you talking back there. There is no need denying it.” His glasses were wired into the environmental sensors of the hallway. He did not see the other man, but noticed his presence due to body heat and oxygen levels.

The tall man on the ground only saw two shadows hitting each other, heard a few curse words. His friend, whom he had talked to minutes earlier fell into view, twitching uncontrollably, emptying his bladder.

A taser dart stuck in his forehead.

“I haven’t had an answer from you yet.” The man in the shadows said, somewhat short on breath. Still feeling paralysed from his taser shot the tall man breathed heavily in his beard. “Secure fissionable compounds, we need to have all the weaponry we can get.”

“Do the sheiks know?”

“No. We’re operating covertly. The less people know, the better. If our leaders knew, they would negotiate for such compounds. But they have lost all connection to reality. And the threats your people have brought upon us.” The man in the shadows knew that his captive was talking about the Harpies. Although details had been kept secret, Horizon sent only encrypted messages, but news casts from the Destiny had not been encrypted.

In the vague light of the dim hallway the tall man on the ground only saw the gun pointing at him. “Please, I only do what is necessary!”

“So do I.” Another dart followed.


“Two men dead, and one vanished without a trace!” Prince Shamim yelled, spittle flew from his mouth. “And all that within four days of arriving on your vessel!”

The Admiral tried to calm him, since he already started to turn red. Helpless and tired Darius watched. He stood a few steps behind the Admiral.

“This is an outrage! Abdul ben Mustafa was part of my family’s entourage since before I was born! A dear friend of my uncle, and I demand you find out where he is, immediately!” Darius’ heart skipped a beat. His newly acquainted friend Abdul was the missing man.

“Please sir, calm down.” A personal assistant of the prince approached him. “These people are trying to get behind the mystery. If we keep them from doing so, it is our fault if they can’t find him, not theirs.” Calmed a little by the older man’s soothing words and voice the prince turned away from the Admiral.

For a brief moment Darius thought he could see the man’s distain for having to talk to a woman. It passed as quickly as it had come.

“We urge you to increase your efforts, and we would kindly request to be closer involved in the questioning of suspects.” The older man continued, addressing the Admiral. “Alright, it is the least we can do at this time.” She sighed. “Konrads, raise security chief Savic and inform him that our guests will add personnel to the investigation and questioning.”

Saluting Darius strode across the room, and called the uncle of Irina. After the call was not answered he tried again.

The third time he called security in general. “I can’t get through to Chief of security, Nusrat Savic, there is urgent information,” he stopped abruptly. Heat rose to his face, as an eerie cold grasped him tightly around the chest. “Repeat that Irina.” What felt like a breathed reply was louder than he anticipated.

“My uncle is dead.”


A doctor stood over the chief’s body. He had not started an autopsy. Neither had he done so with the other bodies in the make shift morgue. Originally intended as a refrigerated pantry for the adjacent kitchen and common room, it now was used as morgue. For religious reasons neither of the two murder victims from the Kismet had been touched, other than to bring them to the morgue. “There is no need to open him.” The man said in a calm voice. “According to his implant he died from somewhat natural causes.”

“Somewhat?” Pryia raised her eyebrows, wrinkling her forehead. “His heart and lungs stoped working.” pausing he glanced from his virtual viewscreen in his glasses to the Admiral and Irina who stood in front of Darius. “Because, the implant triggered a gland in his brain to spill so much of the hormone that paralyses your muscles while sleeping, that these were paralysed.” Sighing he pushed the glasses to the top of his head. “Meaning, he was murdered, but the cause can be found without opening him up.”

Clenching her fists Irina stared at her uncle. His features were peaceful, unlike the image that Darius had of him. With a nod Pryia told Darius to get Irina out of the morgue. “Thank you doctor.”

“He was the only one of my family left. He practically raised me!” Irina’s voice was clear, no trembles. But sharp pronunciations.

Tightly she clenched his hand. “I need to find my uncle’s murderer!” She hissed. Staring in his eyes.

“Calm down, please.” Pressing the words through his teeth, trying not to show how much her tight grip hurt, his words sounded like an angry hiss too.

“Help me, instead of being an ass. Take a que from the movies, and help me. Bond would.”

Something in Darius’ mind flickered. Images flashed before his eyes, sounds rang in his ears. “What did you say?” Both the unusual experience and the pain in his hand fought for supremacy.

“I said help me.” She jerked his hand, close to an angry fit of throwing them away. “Anid I said that Bond would help me! Be like Bond!”

More flickers.

“Yes, Moneypenny.” With a blank stare Irina’s grip loosened, gently Darius slipped his hand from hers. “It was you. And me. From the get go.” He opened and closed his hand, pumping blood into his fingers.

“It was, I think. How?”

More flickering memories haunted Darius as he worked his fingers. “Link?” He tapped her forehead, and then his.

“The implant? I didn’t,”


Darkness, sliced into pieces by lasers and other lights of the lightshow, basses trembled through the room, through the body. Darius sat at a table with Irina.

It has been mere hours since they met, both had come to the bar in search of something. Darius on his own, Irina as covert mission.

The party drug, or rather implant. Someone had taken the technological details from the Harpy implants sent by the Horizon, and had fashioned something similar. “Adjustment complete.” Both spoke as one, together with a woman who sat at the table with them. Unheared by either, but felt in their linked minds, a few dozen other people had said the same thing.


Sitting in the grass outside Darius’ quarters Irina rubbed her temples. He stood leaning against the wall a few steps away. “If I activated you, who activated me?”

Wishing for nothing more than a cigarette Darius fiddled with a leaf. “Who else but M?” His chuckle died in his throat. “No seriously, it was him.” He pointed in the direction they had come from. Pain striken Irina pinched her nose between her eyes. “Uncle, what have you done?”

A woman entered the section of the hallway they were in, immediately both turned silent. As Irina, she too wore the uniform of a security officer. “Good evening.” She stopped, looked around and then stepped closer. “Your implants have shut down, the strain of suppressing part of your memory and orders was too much.”

A non verbal question seemed to form on both their faces. “The new M you could say. Your uncle was murdered by agents of the Kismet.” With a slight hint of a smile she turned to Darius. “As was the first victim. He had accidentally uncovered their plans to nick the access codes and was about to inform the prince. The man you captured last night, Abdul ben Mustafa, was very talkative.”

Calming himself, mostly with the memories of his actions, Darius straightened his own uniform. “We need to inform the Admiral.”

“No need.” new M replied calmly. “Everything has been set in motion.”


Looking at Abdul with disdain the prince sat at the table, next to Admiral Kanjeet on one side, and his personal advisor on the other. “Your uncle gave the orders, he wanted to obtain the access codes to gain the vital materials. With this he could’ve overwhelmed your father, and succeeded him.”

Grinding his teeth in silence the prince gave a wave of his hand, immediately two guards swept towards Abdul, took him into their custody.

With the case of the murders resolved the prince took a deep breath. “Thank you, Admiral. This plot could have endangered both our ships’ security and safety.”

Determined to see someone pay for the treachery he rose. “Our negotiations will be postponed, I must return home.”


After having seen the diplomatic envoy off, the Admiral returned to the former diplomatic rim. In a holding cell she looked at Darius and Irina. “I expect a full debrief of your mission. I want all the names you can give me. I don’t like a secret agency aboard this ship, especially if I am unaware of it and its actions!” Leaning on the table she looked from one to the other and back. “Get writing, once you’re done report to the infirmary to have those things removed from your brains.”


Uncertain whether their feelings for one another are genuine or were produced by the implants to aid in their mission Irina and Darius entered the infirmary, holding hands nonetheless. “Come into my office.” Sporting strains of grey hair the woman in the doctors coat waved them towards herself.

Taking a seat at her desk the two exchanged an awkward look. “We’re here to have,”

“I know exactly why you’re here, the Admiral has informed me.” She waved to a person behind the two, immediately the door to the office shut. A woman in security guard uniform stood outside, clearly visible through the glass door.

“Well, Mister Bond, Miss Moneypenny, seems you need to remember who we are, and that you belong to us.”


War Journal – 2-3-4 Bane-War-Aftermath (ep1)

Grey hard crystalline ground stretched in all directions. From horizon to horizon, just the flat grey unforgiving salt desert. No trees, shrubberies, grasses.

Winds gusted, whirling up clouds of dust, dust that consisted solely of salt, and traces of other materials. Hooded, wrapped in several layers of cloth, and a cloth in front of the face, a lone figure wandered through the saltpans, that once were the ocean floor.

Carefully placing steps, probing for unsafe ground wih taps of a staff the figure was not the fastest, but didn’t want to.break through the hard salty crust to get stuck in a puddle of salty sludge.

The sudden sound of a splash, accompanied by thunder as if huge waves broke above, the figure looked up, finding another figure in the air. The second figure had wings, but seemed to be unconscious, flying onward but in a steady decline. Might be some time until she comes down. If it truly is a Naga. After an hour the supposed Naga came down, landing unpleasantly on the salty ground. A cry of pain followed. That woke her.

Still taking care.not to cruah through he surface into sludge the hooded figure continued on. Guided by the Naga’s cries the hooded figure navigated through the salt pans.


“You were flying eastwards, you crash landed westward.” the voice of a woman reached Fathala, it seemed distant, all of her body was burning, in every scratch there was salt, her left wing was dislocated, her right wing broken, her right arm didn’t feel much better. “Mirror world?” only now, after crying in pain for a while, did she notice how raw her throat felt, how dry she was.

“Yes.” a hand white as snow appeared from underneath the cloaks. Fathala felt like crying but was too dried up to shed tears. The alabaster woman! She is going to kill me! Another figure appeared above her. Wings like fire, garbed only to hide his private parts. A male Naga, Eric’s ghostly Naga shape. “Do not be afraid of her.” he said in a calm voice. A cold, yet warming touch sent shivers through Fathala’s body, the burning vanished, and the pain in her extremities eased. A healing touch?

“I take it from your reaction to me, that you have heard of me.” the alabaster hand withdrew beneath the cloaks again. “Or rather, of her.” as she removed her hood more white skin was revealed to Fathala, framed by streams of fiery red hair. “The Sphinx had taken possession of me, used me. Not so long ago a young, handsome man had come here, to the sweetwater sea. She used my body to seduce him, to make him bend to her will.” she helped Fathala stand up. “I am Lilly.”

“Fathala. I suppose you don’t carry any water?” Lilly produced a skin and a cup, poured some water into the cup. “We need to ration it.”

Eagerly Fathala gulped down the water.

Upon defeating the sphinxes the last time, one had been left stranded in the mirror world, with her counterparts. Life giving benevolent creatures, who saw no danger in the new arrival. One by one the malevolent sphinx killed her benevolent counterparts, met with no oposition by the people of the mirror world she wreaked havoc on them, murdered them, tore holes in the rim and let the oceans drain into the depths. When she had nothing left to destroy, she turned on Lilly, occupying the immortal anti Succubus, biding her time until she could slip back into the world she belonged to.

Battling pt.1

(Wish I could sit there right now…)​
As I am battling with severe depression and all it’s crippling consequences, I find myself unable to uphold a vigorous schedule.

So my (depression driven) humour, my spite and bile for the idiocy of the world, will have to pause.
On occasion.
If I can’t finish a Friday post on time that is.

Just to let you folks know in advance, I am not certain if the advent calendar will be finished this year. If I am unable to come up with 24-25 (plus one for NYE) items, there will be a ‘five specials’ programme instead:
Celebrating the last four weeks before Christmas, plus Christmas.
Regardless! There will be no new RoF in December, or January! (Details well follow)

Until such time. Feel free to help a crazy person out of a dark place, by dropping a like, or a comment, from time to time. Ain’t got nothing against freeloaders, but some gratitude would be fine, at least from time to time.

Take care,

Rings of Fate S1xE8 – Destiny – 007 (pt.3)


Strained from a night spent sprawled in front of his screen, after falling asleep watching movies, Darius stood with heavy bones, aching joints and back, at the reception again.

But not for a festive occasion.

Negotiations were cancelled for the time being.

Instead the security teams from both Destiny and Kismet stood around, armed, and grim looking. “There had been a murder.” Admiral Kanjeet had announced to them. All personnel that had access to the diplomatic quarters had been rounded up. Kismet and Destiny personnel alike. He saw Abdul in the other row across the room. He seemed equally tired. Probably had spent his night watching the western media too.

“A murder in the diplomatic envoy! Since not that many people have access to the diplomatic quarters on the outter rim, you will all be interrogated.” Not all of the Kismet crew spoke English, so Abdul had to translate for them.

Most of the Kismet crew felt uncomfortable accepting orders from a woman, especially an infidel.

“Where were you last night, between 2200 and 0100?” Watched over by a bearded guy, who seemed to have shoulders as broad as he was tall, and a blond counterpart in Destiny’s uniform, a man with leathery skin sat opposite of Darius at a small table. “In my quarters, watching movies and sleeping. Although I only came home at about half past ten.” He fidget with his fingers, he already had excused himself for that, but he was really nervous in front of authority figures. The man pressed a few buttons on his tabket computer, nodded witha satisfied expression. “Computer log of your implant trace confirms that.”

Although he knew that he hadn’t done anything, Darius still felt relief. “Were you in contact with anyone from the Kismet?”

In a few words, all the while working hard to hide his nervousness showing in his words, he told of Abdul, and his inquiries. “Who else have you talked to yesterday?”

Exhaling audibly Darius leaned back, a sudden wave of relaxation overcame him. “My colleagues, the people in the diplomatic entourage at the reception, Abdul and a Miss Brekic.” His interrogator looked up from his tablet.

“Irina Brekic?”

Darius nodded, wanted to reply, but only then did he realise that he hadn’t been spoken to. Instead the door opened, dressed in the uniform of the Destiny armed forces security detail, Irina entered. Her hair tied to a knot.


“You know this man?” The interogator pointed at Darius.

“Yes sir, although not by name, sir. We met yesterday as I went for a jog.”

Nodding the interogator looked back down at his computer, dismissed Irina with a wave of his hand.


Feeling drained even more of strength and will, Darius stumbled out of the interrogation room. Four hours of questioning, seemingly nonsensical questions at times, what movies Abdul was interested in for example, had left him dazed.

“You didn’t have to get interrogated to see me again, Mr. Bond.” Irina came around the corner near his cabin. “I honestly would’ve called, instead of that interrogation!”

Smiling Irina took up walking beside him. “Well, since I was hoping for us to meet this evening, I am all free tonight.”

All exhaustion fell off of Darius immediately.


From the last night only flashes, like vague glimpses into another realm of existence, remained in Darius’ mind. Irina had spent the night, but he could’ve pieced that together from waking up beside her. They spent most of the time talking about varius movies, mostly the spy and thriller movies, watching a few of them.

Over the course of time one thing had led to another.


“Kismet demands to be let in on the investigation.” He read the message he had just received. Since the murder of the diplomatic attaché, he, and the others on the diplomatic rim, had not been allowed back to their usual duties, but still he relayed communiques.

“Let them hear static, they should be talking with their team here. After all we’re including them from the go.” Admiral Kanjeet replied.

In a corner she sat on a table, feet perched up on the chair. In her hand the tablet computer with witness reports, her glasses sat beside her, still displaying something, but Darius didn’t care what exactly.

Immediately his mind wandered off again, to the security officer he had found lying beside him that morning. After breakfast they had returned to their respective duties.

“Admiral?” Darius’ interrogator entered the room, he eyed Darius carefully, then handed the Admiral a tablet computer.

“Altered computer logs?” The Admiral gazed at him. “On all the doors in the outter most rim.” He confirmed, again looking around. For Darius it felt as if he was looking for him in particular, but he scanned the room for any reactions from the present people.

Within a heartbeat the Admiral had copied the particular report to her own tablet, handing back the other one to the security officer. “Who has the knowledge to do such a thing?” She asked.

“The knowledge? Many people, the skills and security clearance to actually do it? Only a few.” Ponderous the man strode across the room. “Mr. Konrads, would you mind following me?”

Insecure Darius got up. “I was watching movies, logs confirm that.”

“Logs can be altered, and they have been. So, please, come with me.” Unwilling Darius followed the man outside.


“Last time I had neglected to introduce myself. My name is Nusrat Savic. I was given to understand you’re still meeting with Miss Brekic?” Again they had taken seat at the table in the small room. With one word Darius confirmed.

“Are you aware that she has both the clearance and skills necessary to alter computer logs?” Remaining silent Darius felt as if something, or someone was trying to tie a knot around his neck. “I doubt she is helping you, if you are responsible for the actions you’re here to be questioned about.” A little relief came over Darius’ mind. “However,” concerned Darius noticed that there were no guards at the door this time, “if you should be using her, or if you are just hurting her, know that blood is thicker than water, and for my niece I’ll cross boundaries.” Gulping Darius sat up straight. Although the feeling of closing knots around his neck had vanished, he still felt somewhat trapped.

“I have no intention of hurting her, sir.”

Giving him a glare that said everything that needed to be said, Nusrat returned to his computer. “Here,” he handed the tablet to Darius. “this is a system similar to the one, one would need to overcome to change computer logs. Data from your implant will reveal if you’re holding back.” Is this even legal? Or possible? Darius began typing, after a few moments an alarm rang from the small computer. “You failed.” With some degree of satisfaction Nusrat stared through the glasses at Darius. “And you honestly tried.”

Reluctantly Darius handed the device back. “Am I free to go now?”

Dismissed with a nod Darius hurried out of the room, headed back to the room in which most of his colleagues sat.


War Journal – 1 Swift Wings (ep31)

Heeding the old woman’s warning Fathala turned, no one was paying her much attention anyway. Quickly she slithered up the steep stairs, crossed long hallways, past common rooms.

A soft and gentle growl rose from the rock around her. More and more knights poured out of the rooms, old men, younger men, but still old, young men. Fathala had hoped to see one of the sons Eric had left with the order, to warn them, yo take them with her, but she saw not one.

Soon she found herself out in the open again, from the dry heat of the keep she had cone back to the damp, icy air of an.almost wintery pole.Within.minutes had she flown to he house, dusk was close, not that it matter much with the dark clouds above. For a moment it appeared to her that an immense ray of golden light was engulfing the pole, or at least the mountain with the keep in it.

Roused by the unusual sound of her wings beating the air Thorsten rushed out, his family in tow. We raised him wisely. He had packed some provisions and clothes, on his arm a little child. Fathala couldn’t tell whether itvwas Erica or his own daughter.”We need to leave.” she didn’t waste any breath on long explanations, the ground beneath her grumbled softly. “I thought as much.” he replied, showing his luggage. “Fishers bay is too far away, come father.” He is accepting this better than I thought.

Thorsten led his family west, out to the place where he and Eric had built the first boat, to find an identical ship waiting for them. Fathala felt almost bad for abandoning hers in the middle of the ocean. It would’ve been towed by the Albin ship, and would be inaccessible now as well.

“Tide is out.” Thorsten sounded desperate, but Fathala recalled that he couldn’t know of her ability to let the ship to water.

Mere moments later waves towered over the mast that now seemed tiny by comparison. Although she felt the exhaustion of her powers Fathala kept pushing he ship away from shore, out into the raging storms.


Above and behind the wandering, furious mountains of water the tall black rock stood above, barely distinguishable from the dark skies and waters. Deafening thunder roared, making Fathala and Thorsten turn their heads. Just as Fathala had feared, a broad ray of light crossed the skies above, engulfing the mountain.

Another thunder sounded as the top of the rock was torn apart, fire and molten rock spewed forth from it, immediately a plume of ash and smoke rose into the sky, melting through the clouds, forming an even darker cloud above.

“Faster!” she cried to herself, closing her eyes to propel the ship faster through the waters, but exhaustion got the best of her, leaving the ship adrift in the currents of the storms.


Relieved she noticed the currents carried them off.


Thorsten stood next to her, his hand on the rudder, while she was hanging against the railing of the ship. We’re doomed. Streams of lava ran down the slopes, whilst more ground shaking explosions tore at the peak of the pole mountain. Fathala saw that something massive was spewed up inside the plume, but couldn’t determine if it was chunks of rock and lava or their dreaded enemy. “Wave!” Thorsten’s cry took her attention further down, amassive wave raced towards them. I can’t breathe seawater for long. An hour, maybe two, before I die! she wanted to cry but felt a ghostly touch on her left shoulder. Glancing up, she found Naga Eric smiling down on her benevolently. Returning the smile she rose to her full size, wind caught in her spread wings, ripping her off the deck, dragging her high up.

Deepin the western horizon clouds opened up to send the last rays of daylight into the world. Wereit not for the catastrophe raging around us, this would be a peaceful sight. Good bye my children. She glanced down on the tiny boat dancing on and between the the mighty waves, ahead of the large floodwave. Summoning the remainder of her strength she pushed the little boat away. Far away from the wave pursuing it, where the sea was deep enough forthe wave to disperse in the deep.

Aware that she had to land anymore, she.plunged downwards to catch the massive wave that had threatened the boat until then.

Lit by the light from the west she could see her distorted reflection in the front of the water wall for a moment, before she was struck by a waterfront as strong as rock.


Leif smiled as he cradled he bane in his hands. “She is dead, our gift to the world will soon,” he felt the lips of he alabaster woman touch his. “They are here.” she breathed wih a cold smile. “Thanks to you, the dragons have returned.”

Not understanding Leif tried to gatger any meaning from her eyes. But again he felt her lips on his, her tongue searching for his. Before he could resist he felt a sharp stingin his throat.

The alabaster woman stood over him, one hand buried in his hair, one tightly clasped around the arrow she had forced through his throat, she kissed away the blood he spewed up. “I am a dragon, or a chimera or sphinx. We have many names, and I have brought my brethren here. Thanks to you.” she smiled turning to face outwards through the dense curtain of water behind the waterfall.

She felt the coming presence of the other sphinxes, a demented grin jerked the corners of her mouth around. Under a maniacal laugh she ran towards the waterfall.


Whlana felt air brushing against her face with increasing intensity. Suddenly liberated from the alabaster Chimera she fought to forget the countless times the creature had spread her legs for Leif. It had left memories in Whlana’s mind. It had been true that the chimeras of the other place were bringers of life, but the alabaster creature had not come from there.

Suddenly Whlana felt the crush, every thought stopped, there was just water and rock, bones like sand and blood everywhere.


Keeping the gate

 … closed. Real tight!

(An experimental father blog post)

During my vacation I got to spend a lot of time with my son. 
Alone, out in the wild, where people are. 
Where mothers roam.

Running around in an urban area one day, a suburban the next, rural one on day three, zoo, aquarium, playgrounds. 
Everywhere you go as a dad with your child, you meet them. 
The Mothers. 
Especially the “MOTHERS”(tm). 
And everywhere you meet them, they give you a smile.

Nice. Isn’t it?

It isn’t. 
It is no smile of joy, of friendliness, of kindness. 
This the contemptuous, belittling smile of a person about to drown a puppy.
If women were treated this way in hardware-stores, feminists would (rightly) tear them to the ground. 
Brick by brick.

With that one “smiling” glance they let you feel how superior they feel over you, how they see you as an intruder into their realm, their domain, their existence. How they despise your very presence there, and think, or feel, that everything you do is wrong, that you are wrong for even attempting to spend time with your child alone.

These women define themselves, and validate their entire existence, through the fact they squeezed a human being out their vaginal opening. 
There is no place for you, for a father, a man, in that world, the realm of the mothers.

Maternal gate keeping.

It’s a thing: 
》A father maybe plays with the kids under maternal supervision, is permitted to accompany the “MOTHER”(tm) and the kids to the playground. But, and this is the most important thing, a true mother never, ever, lets her children leave the house with the father unsupervised. 
A father does not feel or think with/for his children like a mother, thus can’t take care of the child(ren) like the mother.《

All that is implied in that one smile they give you.

Dads! Rejoice. 
For these women lead the most pitiful life imaginable. Once the kids are old enough to leave the nest, once the menopause has begun to haunt their bodies, ravaging their self-validation with the undeniable fact that birthing is forever off the table, they have but a shallow empty ghost of a reason to live. Whilst we have memories of time spent with our children, the husbands (or lifepartners) of these despicable women will have memories of them spending time with children under maternal supervision that was as strict like a prison visit. 
Relax fellow dads. 
Smile back, and put all the pity you feel for these old hags who have lost the reason to live due to aging, in that smile. 
Give them the same pity, the same contempt and dispise they give you. Disrupt their self image, for they expect a shocked expression, a shy or hurt glance, shame in your eyes. If you hand them back what they dish out, they are disrupted.
Maybe, just maybe, you can draw a “MOTHER”(tm) back to the realm pf normal people, and make her a normal mother.

Take care,

Crappy Birthday in September


Introducing Smartbe, the smart stroller for dumb people who shouldn’t have children, let alone be left alone with them.

This thing can be controlled via app, on your “I’m-a-certified-moron”-watch or your smart phone. It then will follow your every move, always staying a certain distance away from you, so you can jog (an activity for idiots, especially on paved ground), or take calls and stroll around like a squirrel on speed (always shadowed by that stroller which is creepy), hunt down, mercilessly attack and catch imaginary critters in the park, or just walk without touching the darn thing – god forbid, you could form an emotional bond with the small entity inside (hey you handsfree-bimbo, now you can reacher over and “touch” ME!)

The fondle-a-stranger-friendly distance to stroller and child, the emotional cold so to say, is continued in other features of this space age stroller: 

¤In case you are so distanced to your parasitic offspring that you walk away from the stroller/pram with the baby inside, you can get an alarm, on your phone! I’m sure it will not be tripped by the twenty people who check if the child is alright while you let some dude ‘plow your fields’ around the next bush. 

¤Your child might be chilly or exposed to too much wind/sun? No problem, just close the canopy on the little fucker from the app, no need to get too close!

¤Curious how your child is doing? Forget bending over and looking, you might catch a whiff of those nasty baby smells, just look at your brat through the camera! Best part, your child won’t ever even know you just looked at it – it will remain frightened, crying and desperate for some warm human interaction. 

I must admit, the seatheater and the bottle warmer are innovative ideas for a pram, but the rest?

Look people, life ain’t that hard: if you have kids your pre-child activities are restricted, or put on hold for a few years. You wanna jog or fondle strangers in the park? Do it while your partner has the kid, or a nanny, or a grandmother (they usually beat other people to spend time with their grandchildren). 

But, do not take them with. 

Especially in a fucking pram that is (will be) presumably powered by the same kind of Lithium Ion batteries that lit up a few “hoverboards”. 

There are easier, less idiotic and cheaper ways to kill your baby. Or give it up for adoption.

Or better yet – do not have a child, your genes deserve no chance of being passed on.

Crappy Birthday.

Rings of Fate S1xE8 – Destiny – 007 (pt.2)


For hours the words of the engineering technician rung in his head. Not even the short adventure on his display could bring his mind at ease.

Darius turmed off the display and laid down.


“Seal off the deck.” Darius stated to a security guard. He saluted and left. In the room behind Darius the delegates had sat down for the negotiations, on the otter rim of the alpha ring, where no one lived. Work crews constantly improving the armament and armor of the ship, had been reassigned to other rings for the duration of the talks.

Feeling privileged over his acquaintances from his favorite mess hall, for being able to be present near the negotiations Darius sighed.

Some men from the Kismet also were left standing in the hallway. Some of those were security, some were not.

“Communication?” A bearded man in his thirties approached Darius. “Yes. You too?” Studying the mans white garments Darius started to wonder if he was cold aboard the Destiny, apparently the average temperature aboard the Kismet was higher.

“Affirmative. I wanted to ask,” he reached for his beard, “do you think there’s a way to increase the dataflow rate between your ship and ours?” Nervously he looked around, Darius couldn’t say if it was to ensure no other Destiny crew members were listening, or others from Kismet. “Our databanks didn’t get the full load of western movies and TV shows, yet I know a few people who would love to see them.” He spoke in a hushed voice, obviously he was hiding from the other Kismet members.

Laying his forehead in wrinkles Darius also looked around. He realised that the two of them were rather isolated. The next person stood at least five to six meters away. A Destiny security guard.

“Let me guess, this isn’t part of the negotiations?” A nod was his reply. “In that case,” Darius smirked, “we can work out something.”


Night had just begun as Darius wandered through the deserted hallway. In the dimmed light of simulated night the generously dimensioned hallway seemed to tighten.

There had been no breakthrough in the trade negotiations with the Kismet crew yet. After a day of long talks they had retreated to their quarters, the negotiators from Destiny had done the same. Abdul ben Mustafa, the media interested man who had approached Darius, went with his superiors, but had spent the time before that with him. From him he had learned that the series and movies he was interested in weren’t forbidden, not even undesired, but hadn’t seemed necessary at the time.

Upgrading the computer storage space aboard the Kismet was the least concern of the Emirates when they had to rebuild the ship to be used for generations, instead of Antimatter fuelled, relatively short time use.

“Good evening!” A woman greeted him. She wore the garments of someone who went to jog. Variety in clothing was limited. Her black straight hair was held together in a strict ponytail by a nearly invisible black hairband. “Good evening?”

“You almost look like the new Bond, sulking in the shadows of a nightly hallway.” She giggled, looking at him fromnhead to toe.

“Hardly,” he smiled, “I am too short, too unfit. But thank you for the compliment. Did you like the new film?”

“Yes.” A strand of hair had broken free of its restraints and fell in her face. “But I think you look like him, your movements and posture are like his.”

Darius felt sudden heat on his cheeks. “I loved it, the movie I mean. Maybe I watched it too often, started to walk like him.” Sighing he hoped he could land a date with the unknown woman with the pale skin.

“Maybe.” She again looked him up and down. “If you want to talk more about movies, contact me. My name is Irina Brekic.” Winking she stretched, obviously starting her jog. “Good night, Mr. Bond.” She jogged off.


War Journal – 1 Swift Wings (ep30)

A thin layer of dew covered the fields, in some patches it was frost, Fathala had a hood drawn into her face, watching the house with a longing heart. In one way or the other her children were supping inside the building. Like she had predicted, their landing was met with suspicion, the people of fishers bay had welcomed them, but didn’t let any of them into the underground village further uphill from the ocean, nor their huts and houses at the shore.

But they knew of Eric’s departure with Leif, and that the order also had sent two ships of their own, with two men each. After they too had left, their mission was made known. Suspicion was replaced with disappointment, after learning that the ship was indeed not carrying women for the pole. Again, just like she had predicted. Before paying a visit to the order and readying them for Leif and the bane, Fathala had decided to take a detour, she wanted to see how Eric’s family was fairing. “Who are you?” the door to his house was wide open, Thorsten stood in the warmly lit opening, blade in hand. “A friend of your fathers.” it cost her all her strength not to rush to his side, wrapping her arms around him and express her fatherly love to him, like the parts of Eric remaining inside her wanted.

“You of the strangers who.came ashore two days past?” he lowered his.blade, although the sight of the Naga surely must’ve been terrifying to him. “A friend of my father is welcome here, even if you look queer.” grateful for his hospitality she slithered towards him. “I came to tell you of his passing.” she took off the hood, immediately icy winds made a mess of her hair. It was not as homely as Eric’s memories made it seem.

Thorsten was seemingly moved by the ill news, but something told Fathala that he had assumed as much when Eric had set out to sea. “How?”

“A dagger.” I can’t tell him that it was his little brother who slew me.

“Who?” tears shot to his eyes. I have to. “Leif. In his defense, he was charmed and seduced by powers out of this world.” more grief, joined by anger, displayed on his face. “All his training,” Thorsten began, “had not prepared him for what has happened to him.” Fathala finished the sentence. “A powerful entity grabbed hold on him, regrew certain parts, and seduced him to think the Dragons were bringers of life.” she placed her hand on his cheek like Eric had done whenever Thorsten was sad in his childhood.

Surprised the young man looked up. “Father?” “In a way. But not entirely, I’m sorry.” she withdrew both her hand and herself. “Erica is well I hope? And your own child?” weeping heavily he nodded, the sword had fallen to the ground. “The girls are fine.” A girl too!? Perhaps there’s hope after all. “It fills our hearts with joy to hear that.” she wanted to correct what she had said, but Thorsten seemed to understand. Tears in her eyes Fathala turned away. “I need to go to the order, your brother still poses a threat, even at great distance.” Or especially then. Thosten did make no reply, the sound of the blade scraping over the ground as he picked it up sounded as sad as she felt. Without another word she left the home that Eric had known for all his life, and the home she had thought and hoped to find with him. Fighting the frosty dew and icy patches she slithered towards the landing party that had accompanied her, they waited in the village to journey to the Orders keep.


The faces carved from the basalt and tuff seemed to weep with the dew and thawing frost running down them. Large and intimidating gates awaited any visitors to the keep, flanked by faces of men, women and beasts. Above them all was a slain dragon, facial features had washed away long since, but the nigh face less creature wept along with the men and women of stone below. Fathala felt unwelcome, as Eric had every time he had to go to the keep. An unwell feeling got hold of her stomach when she entered the keep with her fellowship, Danarien amongst them.

Seeing things the young Naga couldn’t Danarien gazed about. Our warning comes late. Not too late I hope.

“It gives us grwat pleasure to receive guests from beyond he seas.” Fathala quickly translated for her company, Danarien smiled peacefully, still gazing about. Shadows move beyond these walls, they prepare to tear open the gates holding them back. “I am mightily interested in your defences.” she suddenly blurted out. Seemingly irritated the knight who greeted them looked at the blind old eyes staring at him. Through him.

“Certainly. You.sound urgent, is there cause to it?”

They’re almost upon us, fool. “An old woman’s curiosity. At a certain age, with death no further than a step, you loose your patience.” nodding he led to the abbot knight, an elderly man of nigh fifty years, skin like white leather, he was found in the library, immersed in plans for more ships.

Danarien repeated her desire to see the defences of the keep. “I’ll take you tgere personally, but must ask your companions to surrender their weapons to my men.” Cautious. Good.

Following steps carved from basalt the abbot led them down the great dome, Fathala remembered the stories Leif had told his father. All the abandoned quarters. The defences Danarien seeeks are weakly manned at best. All because he decline of population. Although second sons are mandatory required to go to the order, fewer girls mean fewer births, means lesser numbers for the order. Are we too late after all?

“Excuse me.” she stopped. To her right a long hallway led away from the great hole in the rock. A red glow lit the hallway that was not from the torches or lamps. Surprised as his guests the Abbot stopped, stared down the hall. “Sentries!” he yelled, to which half a dozen men came running. On Danarien’s face an expression of contempt was clearly visible. “Eric, Fathala, grab your family, run ftom this land.” the old woman let go of Fathala’s hand after taking it in a hasty fashion.