Micah Park Biffle

The Council   I stood in the door way as Count Dreygon lit the candles. His long neck stretching over the wax hugged wicks. Lifting a match so carefully as not to disturb the flame even the slightest. It was odd, how he wished us to be in silence the moment we reached this cathedral like structure.  Our conversation prior had extended from his stead to the very entrance of the building. Before we entered, he turned from the door way placing his index finger upon his lips in gesture to keep silent. I had no reason to not agree nor be concerned. As I had agreed to meet those that had helped him to obtain a position among the council.  His mentors, I was told. And I, one with ambition to be a part of the council was willing to do as Count Dreygon asked. So my ambition and curiosity have drove me to this very chapter of my life.   As I stand in the doorway, a draft of wind soars into the building with what feels like the need to be noticed. The ...

   The Ugly Place   The trees are thick with tar, dripping from the smoldering breath of the crimson sun. The heat swells with moist humidity. Vapors of hot breath paste to the flesh like glue. While hands embrace feebly to tattered umbrellas to keep refuge from the goo of the lonely trees.  This ugly and forsaken place be the lands of Hollow Graves. An empty place where many lay but walk bare with nothing to say. Their lips crusted of pain, hydration is far from the soul. No rivers flow with water, only the blood of the dead.  The mountains bare no snow, only the flesh of those of womb. The sacrifices of the living, those who took what was not theirs. Snuffing the gift they were bestowed. Searching for a lasting escape from sufferings of the life. Only to find themselves torn with each repeating day.  Their flesh kissed by the mending lips of demons. Only to scream out to repent as the devils sly lips turn sharp. Lacerating the innocent skin, t...