L.G. Surgeson's Blog, page 4
August 20, 2016
The Fireborn Road: Under Construction
I’m currently working on the next installement in the Black River Chr
onicles. At the moment, I’m supposed to be writing a battle scene – something I could live without – and it’s fighting back. So here’s a snippet of it for you to enjoy.
“On the other side of the melee, the wizards were having a field day. Bert was flinging bolt after bolt of magical charge at the creature in front of him, whilst Bobang had snatched up Jocelyn’s discarded ladle and was beating it anywhere he could reach, screaming about his ruined dinner.”
May 6, 2016
CHRONICLE CASCADE PROMO
Spread the word, share the adventure
It’s a mad world, but somebody’s got to save it.
“The characters are rich and deep, and give the feeling of having lived.”- AJP Bell
April 9, 2016
Welcome – Croeso – Conventioneers
Click here to get to THE FAIRGROUNDS and see the rest of the convention on GoodReads.
Hi All!
Hope you a
re enjoying the B2B CyCon 2016 so far.
Welcome to The Black River Chronicles blog page (or as we say in Wales ‘Croeso’)
I’ll be hosting on the Facebook Takeover at 2pm BST (9am EST) today and on Readers Fantasyland at 3pm BST (10am EST) today
Swing by, say hi – and give me the answers to these questions.
The winner will win ALL 5 currently available Black River Chronicles in eBook form as well as a copy of one of my Black River Shorts.
There are buttons hidden all over this blog – who do they belong to and how many are there?
What are the names of the girls in The Girl That Wasn’t Min
What is the name of Charlie’s Pub in The Winter That Follows
What monumentous event does The Winter That Follows actually follow?
Which nation were responsible for the building of The Freetown Bridge?
Which Chronicle has the strap line ‘It is a Time of Legends It is a Time for Heroes It is Time for Last Stands.’?
Post the answers on either one of my takeover threads (during my slots for preference)
or here at My Fairground Booth
Thank you for stopping by, diolch am alw.
AND FOLLOW THE BLACK RIVER on Tumblr
March 24, 2016
The Winter that Follows
Look! Look!
The Summer of Fire has burned away. The wars of Gods and mortals, that rampaged across the continent, have ended. The world has been left dazed and flattened, trying to pick up the pieces. Those that have survived find themselves standing amongst the ruins with empty hearts, waiting for faces they will never see again. It has not occurred to many that the hardest times may be yet to come.
Follow the tales of a suddenly rich and pregnant widow, a disgraced Albion guard officer who is put up for sale by goblins, two con artists who mistook the army for a quiet life and a green-skin hoard in search of a homeland (and more than happy to carry your baggage if you’re prepared to leave quietly.)
Lonely, jaded, homeless or drunk as a skunk and being sold off cheaply by goblins; all the survivors are faced with the greatest…
View original post 521 more words
February 14, 2016
When Clara Met Pudding
For you delectation – not a love story, but a first meeting all the same. When Clara met Pudding, the start of a beautiful *cough* …. um…..whatever you would call a bromance that is between a female goblin and a street-brat. An extract from the forthcoming ‘The Girl That Wasn’t Min’
Dedicated To Hannah Johnson, my partner in crime
Clara liked The Startling Toad, apart from the fact that you could pay for beer with barter, she found the goblins easier to talk to and totally unbothered by her youthful appearance. Besides, the singing was hilarious. On this particular visit, Clara was relieved to discover that whilst Charlie was happy to accept virtually anything of a not-too-perishable nature as payment he also accepted coins. She had filched two silver florins from the coffers and headed straight for the Toad the moment she’d been left unsupervised. If Charlie hadn’t accepted the money, she would have probably gone to the market and bought him a couple of brace of rabbits instead. As it happened, Charlie was so confused by the unsolicited offer of two silver coins that he was rendered speechless and forced to check their validity. Once satisfied that they were genuine, he put them ‘behind the bar’ handed her a full tankard and told her to come back when it was empty.
That had been some time around the morning eleven hour. It was now approaching dusk and Clara had taken full advantage for her bottomless tankard. She was lying on the floor under a table, giggling merrily to herself as she listened to recitation of the 'old goblin favourite' Pushing Round De Shiny Moon by an extraordinary goblin she had met a couple of hours previously and had taken and instant shine to. Pudding The Goblin - full name 'Bread and Butter Pudding with Custard' - was a goblin bard because only goblins could consider what she did to be bardic. She was small, round and bawdy and dressed in what can only be described as a festival of brightly-coloured poor taste, topped by a cloth covered bowler hat that boasted at least seven different religious symbols.
Clara had been listening to her 'repertoire' for nearly two hours now and both of them were so drunk that they hadn't noticed Pudding only knew seven pieces at least three of which contained an awful lot of 'tum-it-tum...something or other'. It was lucky for the pair of them that the pub was relatively empty and that what clientèle there was had consumed as much ale as they had.
Clara was just joining in yet another rousing chorus of 'She Likes It Like A Well-boiled Ham, Pink And Firm And Juicy' when she found herself unceremoniously dragged out from under the table by her ankles. With bemused irritation she opened her mouth to abuse whoever had hold of her and found herself staring at the furious face of Angel.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, hauling Clara to standing by the shoulders of her tunic.
"I'm singin'"slurred Clara, "or at least I though' I was. Am I not?" She then dissolved into a hopeless, helpless tittering mess. Angel, who didn't find the present situation remotely amusing, snatched hold of Clara's ear. Pinching so hard that Clara's normally pinkish ear turned white under her thumb, Angel started dragging her towards the door.
"Your drunk," she growled,
"Well spo'ed," chuckled Clara, not about to let Angel's anger effect her bonhomie,
"We've got work to do," Angel continued in a sour whisper, with her mouth close to the pinched ear.
"Shit," exclaimed Clara with a look of genuine terror, "Is it Sunday already?" Angel didn't dignify that with a response, she just snorted.
At this point Pudding stepped up, clearly aggrieved. She cleared her throat, swayed slightly and in an hilariously fake Royal Albion accent said,
"Hexcuse me my good woman! Would you care to explain this rumpus?" Angel just stared at her, she had no idea how to respond. Pudding, sensing the need for more authority drew herself up to her completely insubstantial height, an act that only served to emphasis her terrifying striped bosom, grabbed hold of her braces and said, "Madam would you kindly let go of my hassociate" She slurred the word hassociate so badly it had nearly twice the syllables it needed. It was very obvious from the sight of her holding tight to her braces that she was so drunk that her eyeballs may well have been floating. She clearly didn't dare let go of her suspenders in case she fell over. At this point, if Angel had had any kind of sense of the ridiculous she would have started laughing. Instead, with a completely deadpan face, she looked Pudding straight in the swimming eyes and said,
"Who the hell are you?"
"Madam, I am Bread and Pudding Butter with Goblin the Custard!" declared the goblin with all due pomposity, wobbling dangerously as she tipped her hat."And I am a highly renowned bard and prestidigitator of the finest calibre." The word prestidigitator took two run ups, but she managed the whole thing with a perfectly straight face. "And the young lady you have so forcefully by the ear is my 'ssociate Crara Clopper." As a final punctuation, she pinged her braces hard and instantly regretted it. The forces of the suspenders snapping at her shoulders sent her off her very delicate balance. She went into an uncontrollable sway and Angel, who was still not smiling, simply leaned forward and with one hand gave her an almost imperceptible nudge. It was a cruel, calculated and accurate gesture, proving to be just enough to cause the goblin to topple over completely. She hit the floor with a dull thwack and her feet flew up over her head in a flash of glorious technicolour. Angel didn't pause to help her up, she just dragged a protesting Clara out of the door.
"So long fair Clara," declaimed Pudding, waving theatrically from her prone position. "See you on the other side." Clara didn't reply, she didn't have the chance. She was preoccupied by Angel who had her by the scruff and was about to dump her in the horse trough.
January 1, 2016
Happy New Year
Happy New Year from myself & all the Adventurers who populate the Black River Chronicles.
New Features for this year:
‘Highdays & Holidays’
a calendar of all the important dates in Aberddu City State -coming soon in the sidebar
‘Indie Readers Indie Writers’
A blog feature where I will review books by other Indie Authors. Check out the menu bar above.
In our world it’s 2016, for the Adventurers it’s 1116 a.c. (after cataclysm).
They have the same hopes & dreams as we do – healthy, wealthy & happiness; getting through the year with the requisite number of limbs – that kind of thing. However, it’s a mad world, and somebody’s got to save it!
Join the adventurers this year as they battle against great evils, the odds, and more than occasionally their own better judgement.
Start with ‘The Winter That Follows’
AVAILABLE HERE IN PAPERBACK OR ON KINDLE and join the adventure.
December 6, 2015
The Girl That Wasn’t Min
The tale of a con-man & 4 street-kids who he recruits to help him pull off a cunning deception that will lead him to the high-life.
VOTE HERE to help LG Surgeson get The Girl That Wasn’t Min a publishing contract with Something Or Other Publishing.
November 18, 2015
#Awethors
I’m posting here, at the start of my reading binge. I intend to read books by The #Awethors, a writing group I am part of. I’m going read, review & recommend them here, on FB, twitter and amazon.
First up: Dark Waters by LE Fitzpatrick.
All three books of the Dark Waters series available in one collection.
Finn is a simple priest living a life of solitude in the Temple until the night his dying father sends for him. Finn learns that, not only does he have a half-sister, but that she is a captive in the Vaults – a prison reserved for the most heinous criminals. Vowing to save her he enlists the services of the scoundrel pirate, Egan Wey. Together they set off to commit treason.
But their adventure only starts with a rescue. Across the ocean a plague is coming, dead men are walking and blood is like gold. Someone is behind this, but can they find out who in time…
This epic fantasy adventure is pulsing with adrenaline and dark humour, with swashbuckling pirates, raging zombies and copious bottles of rum…
This is a compilation of the trilogy and includes Harvest, Traitors Day and Flames and Blood in their entirety.
WATCH THIS SPACE (but don’t hold your breath I’m a notoriously slow reader)
November 14, 2015
November 11, 2015
For the Fallen
WW1: 17 Million dead
WW2: over 60 million dead (nearly 3% of the world population of the time)
Generations of young men, called up to a life that could not have imagined. Convinced by propaganda that they were doing the right thing. Killed in their prime, brothers fathers sons lost to society. Poor training, lack of equipment, and total chaos. They must have been terrified but they fought anyway.
*Heroes*
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
By his dead smile, I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand fears that vision’s face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
“Strange, friend,” I said, “Here is no cause to mourn.”
“None,” said the other, “Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now . . .”
by Wilfred Owen
(died 4th November 1918 – 7 days before the Armistice)
