Micah Park Biffle

                                                        From the Rift Came the Witches   The rift opens, expanding from another universe. The witches of Malgnant pour from the rift. Ripping through it like dolphins breaching water. Residual fluids from the rift drip from the witches bodies like saliva. Its black contents fall to the ground.  Creating smoke to rise as the droplets burn whatever they touch. The witches, flooding from the rift snarl and laugh maniacally as they circle me. Singing old witch song and taunting me with their presence.   I can feel my skin crawl as they come from the rift like swarms of insects. I stand almost defenseless now, for I lost my staff. Without it, I have no ability keep casting spells. Surrounded, I do my best to ward them off with what little magic I have stored away in...

A Curse and the Man of Silver Armor A few hundred-thousand feet stampede toward the castle. The rumbling of the army can be felt at the foot of the gate. Each warrior screams with mighty rage, their flags held high, which bears a red crown laced in gold, sheltering two golden lions with fiery tongues. The flag waves against the wind. This is no mere flag, it is the mortal enemy of these lands, this castle. The soldiers standing at the castle are gripped by a chill that rushes down their spine in the sight of the flag. But they show no signs of fear. Its a cold winters morning and nature is fierce today. Winds howl as snow is pelted through the air. But the thousands of warriors ignore such elements as their rage blinds them of any bitterness of nature. While others among them are of death, so they carry no nerves to be taken by the frost of winter. As they rush up the small cascade of hills that surround the castle, their stands a man in shimmering armor of silver. He stand...

Find me on  Twitter A Freedom Taken By Lies It is his third town in the past six months. He does his best to keep his heart from home, to not let his nostalgia for memories cloud his judgment. His clothes riddled in filth as he has no funds, no place to rest. From time to time he finds himself a welcomed soul to allow him a stay in hotel. But much of his time is spent in alleys and strangely cemeteries. As he finds the dark somber setting to be a delight to his ears. As no smells of rancid decay wafts about his nose, nor the shouting of drunks and whores scour his ears. He knows himself, he must be belted in grotesque aromas. Smells that would leave any man chocked in his presence. But by  now, he has become accustomed to his position of stench and life. Six months, six months have come and gone. He wanders with aimless direction but passes through each day with a smile. Though his stomach is in constant agony of nourished substance. He finds no reason to treat his ...